


Riff Offs

by Redlance



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just somewhere to collect my smaller stories, most of which are prompts from tumblr. Starting with the Beca vs Chloe rap battle that nobody ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bring The Beat

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : The characters from Pitch Perfect do not belong to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tingggmusic prompted** : Bechloe: Rap Battle :D :D :D *struts away*
> 
>  **Songs used** : O.P.P. - Naughty By Nature/Lose Yourself - Eminem/Get Ur Freak On - Missy Elliott/Nuthin But a G Thang - Dr Dre/Crank Dat Soulja Boy - Soulja Boy/21 Questions - 50 Cent/The Way You Move - Outkast/I'll Do 4 U - Father MC/What's It Gonna Be?! - Janet Jackson feat. Busta Rhymes/How Do You Want It - 2Pac.

* * *

Beca doesn't know how this started. She never knows how **any** of this stuff starts. Only that it inevitably does and that she always ends up right in the middle of it, because of Chloe.

 

Chloe, with her stupid smile and her dumb face, and that look she gives Beca that Chloe knows, she **knows** goes right through her. Just seers a path through her chest and melts every inch off of Beca's cool exterior. And Beca **hates** it.

 

Except she kind of loves it.

 

Even when stuff like this happens.

 

“In the blue corner,” Fat Amy booms into the microphone, that she definitely does not need, of the karaoke machine and throws an arm out towards Beca, “the Big B.M., the little captain that could, Beca 'effin' Mitchell!” She keeps her expression neutral, even as the Bellas at her back go wild, just keeps her eyes trained ahead. “And in the red corner, the only ginger who I know for sure has a soul, Raggedy Ann incarnate, Chloe Beale!” She has Lilly, Stacie and Ashley behind her, ready to throw down against Cynthia Rose, Flo and Jessica who are backing her up. Amy had insisted she be referee. Of what, you ask?

 

A rap battle.

 

Because Chloe's tipsy and so are like, eighty percent of the rest of them, and Beca had been the **only** one to poo-hooing this idea. So, she'd been outvoted. They'd outvoted their **captain**. This was mutiny, and there will be repercussions. For now though, there's just enough alcohol in her system to allow her to roll the tension out of her shoulders. She tips her head from side to side, then rolls it around once, listening to the satisfying pops. Chloe's still staring her down from four feet away, hands on her hips as she rocks them from side to side. She has her game face on and is, Beca can tell, seconds away from saying-

 

“Let's go! Let's do this!” Beca smirks, brushing her thumb over the end of her nose. Fat Amy pulls a coin out of her pocket and stands in the space between them.

 

“Oh captain, my captain,” serious, she holds her palm out to Beca and the brunette glances down at the coin, “tops or tails?” Beca stares down at her hand, like the answer is going to jump out at her or a premonition will slap her across the face. Seconds tick by. “I'm afraid I'm going to need your answer-”

 

“Pick one already, Beca!” Dark blue eyes snap up to find Chloe huffing in exasperation and part of Beca really wants to draw out this moment for a little longer, just to mess with her. Competitive Chloe is **insane**. And kinda hot.

 

But that's neither here nor there.

 

“Tails, dude. Tails.” She nods a few dozen times, as though the more she bobs her head, the more confident she becomes. Amy flicks the coin into the air and catches it, slapping it over onto her other hand and holding it steady.

 

“It is...” you can hear a pin drop. Beca doesn't think the house has ever been this quiet. “Tails!” Beca jerks her arm back in a fist pump and beams at the dirty look Chloe throws her. She blows her a kiss. Chloe rubs at the corner of her eye with her middle finger. “Blue team, I'll allow you ten seconds to confer, at which point you must begin or forfeit your lead to Big Red.” Beca spins and throws a song name out into her group. The Bellas all nod immediately and Cynthia Rose picks up the beat even before Beca's turned back around.

 

“Army with harmony, Dave drop a load on 'em.” And they're off. “'OPP', how can I explain it, I'll take you frame by frame it

To have y'all jumpin' shall we singin' it.” Beca moves towards the centre of the room, gesturing with her hands as she raps. “'O' is for Other, P is for People scratchin' temple, the last 'P', well,” she pauses to wink at Chloe, who's gone a bit red in the face, but is watching Beca like a hawk, “that's not that simple. It's sorta like another way to call a cat a kitten,” until Chloe turns to her own team, “it's five little letters that are missin' here. You get on occasion at the-” Then she's spinning back around and Lilly is exploding out of the beat-box, while Stacie does her best 'gangsta' impression beside her.

 

“-the soul's escaping, through this hole that's gaping,” Beca blinks in surprise at the way the words just flow from Chloe with ease, with confidence, “this world is mine for the taking. Make me king, as we move toward a new-”

 

“-new shit. Gimmie some new shit.” She cuts in and Cynthia Rose is right there with her. She can see Flo and Jessica in her periphery, matching the beat. Jessica's smile is threatening to break her face and Flo looks a bit, manic. It's awesome. “Missy be putting it down, I’m the hottest round.” They move forward as a group, only stopping when they reach the invisible boarder that leaves her and Chloe only a foot or so apart. “I'll told y'all mutha,” Beca lifts a hand to covers her mouth, then motions like she's pulling something away from it before flicking dead air into Chloe's face, “y'all can't stop me now, listen to-” Chloe's eyes flash, right before she skids into Beca's verse.

 

“ **-** to make an entrance so back on up,” she lifts her hands and sends them out, waving Beca and her team back as Stacie picks up the dropped “Cause you know we're about to rip shit up” and then hangs all over Chloe like, well. Like she's Chloe's bitch. Beca cringes the instant she thinks it. “Gimme the microphone first so I can bust like a bubble, Compton and Long Beach together now-” she also cringes the second she realises what's about to come out of her mouth.

 

“-now watch me you.” What's worse is that her body is doing the moves before she can stop herself. Cythina Rose is “crank that soulja boy”ing and Flo is adding a bit of extra flare to the dance. “Now watch me you-” She's almost thankful when Chloe interrupts again.

 

“-you drive me crazy shorty,” almost, “I need to see you and feel you next to me,” because she's singing the words directly to Beca, while Stacie rubs her body along Chloe's side, and Beca's skin is suddenly burning beneath her clothes. “I provide everything you need and I, like your smile,” Chloe licks her lips, mimes giving her a kiss in between lyrics, and Beca feels a bit dazed, “I don't wanna see you cry. Got some questions that I got to ask and I,” but whatever. This is fine. This is totally fine. Beca can play this game too. “Hope you can- “

 

“-can you feel that b-a-s-s bass.” The way she cocks her hip makes Chloe's eyes bulge. Just for a second, but Beca catches it. “I like the way you move.” Sees the way Chloe's eyes flick around Beca's body before returning to her face. “I like the way you move.” How she chews her lip. “I love the-”

 

“-the time, on how I feel and what's on my mind.” Beca almost chokes on the breath that catches in her throat. “It's you that I want to be in my life, and if it's possible you will be my wife.” Beca's eyes dart, no one else seems to be having the same heart palpitations she's having. Stacie is grinning like a mental patient though. “I lead you in the right direction, of course. Never play you out, so there's no laws,” And okay, it's still fine. If this is how Chloe wants to do this, she can play along. “I'll be your love daddy, just wait and see. That me and you, we-”

 

“-we livin' it and just givin' it to you for real. Baby, c'mon,” channelling her inner Janet Jackson, Beca takes a bold step forward and wraps one arm loosely around Chloe's hips, pulling her in close, moving against her. “Every time, we crossin' the borderline. We givin' it to you, makin' you feel fine.” She rolls their hips together and is sure she sees the whites of Chloe's eyes. “Turn the heat up.” Around them, the Bellas have more or less coalesced into one team, adding to the same harmony and following Beca's lead. They dance around her and Chloe, but Beca doesn't really notice. “Better believe we gonna shine,” Chloe's hands are stroking up her arms, “make your body wind,” slipping over her shoulders and over the skin of her neck, “baby, the pleasure-” into her hair.

 

“Baby just alleviate your clothes, time to fly-” And then there are no more words. Beca tips her head forward and catches Chloe's lips in a kiss that rips away the memory of any song she might have used to try and stump her. She clutches at the redhead's hips, fingers pressing into bone as she parts her lips and Chloe licks into her mouth, slow and sure.

 

She doesn't realise the Bellas have stopped harmonizing until she hears Stacie shrieking and the sound makes her jerk away from Chloe's mouth. Chloe, who tries to follow after her like a puppy and reclaim her lips the instant she's away from them. Beca shoots a glance to her side, sees the Bellas all gathered in one spot, staring at the two of them and wearing various expressions that Beca knows will bring catcalls and comments. She doesn't say anything though. Not to them. Instead, she turns back to Chloe.

 

“You totally came in too late on that last line.” She grins, Chloe's hands urging her closer.

 

“Shut up.” She breathes, hot and dizzying, against Beca's lips.

 

“I win.” Beca's vision swims and maybe she should be concerned with those dark spots. Maybe she's about to pass out. Or die.

 

“I think we **both** win this time.”

 

But what a way to go. 


	2. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **From this prompt** : bechloe // "You can’t just make me different and then leave."

* * *

Chloe's almost at the end of the walkway before she hears the door of the Bella House fly open. Vibrating on its hinges as it hits the inside wall and bounces off, rattling in the frame.

 

“Chloe!” Beca's voice reaches her across the distance, angry and hurt in a way Chloe isn't used to hearing. She stumbles at the sound of it, tears obscuring her vision as she tries to clamp down on the sobs threatening to escape. “Chloe!” There's this huge part of her that wants to stop, wants to turn around and face Beca, but it's smothered by something else. Something ugly and cowardly, something that triggers her fight or flight instinct and pushes her into a run.

 

And this isn't Chloe. Chloe doesn't get scared, not of **this** , not of giving in to emotion, letting it rule her for a moment. Chloe lives for that, thrives off of it. It isn't supposed to hurt or make her chest feel like its caving in. It isn't supposed to frighten her.

 

She reaches for the gate.

 

“Don't you **dare** walk away from me right now.” And feels a strong hand grip her wrist. Beca pulls, hard, and Chloe is unable to do anything but roll with the motion, lets herself be spun around. Beca's little more than a watery blur until she blinks, releasing a few of the tears and relieving the strain against the dam for an instant. She can see Beca's face now. Her red-rimmed eyes and scowl, the way fury mars her features with lines and shadows. She can also see the Bellas, how they're watching from the windows and door, how Lilly is watching from the **roof** , and if this were any other time she'd be laughing.

 

She doesn't feel like she'll ever laugh again.

 

Not if this is how Beca is going to look at her from now on. Expression filled with pain and betrayal. A gasping sob leaves her and she tugs her hand out of Beca's grip, bringing it up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.

 

“Please, Beca. Just let me-”

 

“ **No**.” Beca barks and Chloe flinches at the sound. The anger lacing the denial. Chloe presses the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle another hiccoughing cry, sinks her teeth into her knuckles to try and make it stop. She's never seen Beca this angry before. “No, Chloe, you don't...” Never heard her sound this close to hysteric. “You can't just, just... make me different and then **leave!** ” She points back at the house like it's the party she's defending. Yells at Chloe like she's the jury she has to make understand. Her brow is creased and her eyes are wet and dull, and Chloe feels like she's dying. Beca reaches out with her hands, then seems to think better of it and brings them to her hair instead. Fitfully tugging and pulling at the strands. “You don't get to make me **feel** ,” one hands falls, comes to rest over her heart, “and then **leave**.” And then Beca is crying, a single tear escaping from either eye, rolling over her cheeks towards her chin. “You don't get to make me **love** you and then-” Her voice breaks. Like glass under a heavy boot. Crushed into pieces that are so small, there's no hope of putting them back together.

 

Chloe drags in a shuddering breath from behind her hand and gathers every ounce of strength left in her body.

 

“I'm scared, Bec.” She whispers, the words splintered and chipped. But the woman in front of her must see something in them, or maybe in Chloe's expression, because she steps closer until there's no more room between them.

 

“And you don't think **I** am?” She lets out a little laugh, sad and exhausted. Her smile much the same, but **there** nonetheless. “I'm fucking terrified, dude.”

 

And it isn't supposed to be like this. Chloe's supposed to be the brave one. The one without fear, barrelling head first into life and love without a thought towards the repercussions.

 

“But I love you.” She isn't supposed to feel like she's dying, like her very existence is being torn in two different directions. She should be the one reaching out to Beca, but it's Beca's hands Chloe feels at her shoulders, then her cheeks. Cupping her face and forcing her to look at Beca. “Okay? I'm **in** love with you.” It hurts Chloe to breathe, but she tries to anyway. Blinking at Beca like she's seeing her for the first time. “If I can't walk away from that,” Beca pauses, tear stains drying as she swallows hard, “neither can you.” Then she shrugs, like it's no big deal. Like there's no point in arguing. Like it's inevitable. “I won't **let** you.”

 

And just like that, Chloe can breathe again. 


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Bechloe Week. Prompt #1 - Rain.

* * *

 

Beca stands in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows that make up the walls of her office and looks down towards the street from six storeys up. The west coast is being battered by a rainstorm, winds uprooting the occasional palm tree and tearing umbrellas that inevitably prove useless out of the hands of those trying to make it from point a to b. Her hair is still damp after her mad dash from the cab she'd taken that morning to the front doors of the building, and her coffee has gone cold where it sits on her desk.

 

She isn't looking at anything in particular. Just watching as the rain falls in sheets, futilely trying to wash L.A. clean. The grime is too thick, the entire city smeared with stains that won't ever come out. She admires the rain's tenacity though, as it beats down towards the pavement in heavy drops. Unrelenting, like its ultimate goal is to send a tidal wave through the streets.

 

The sky is a flat black, one huge cloud emptying itself overhead, and Beca shouldn't feel as connected to it as she does. Shouldn't empathise with the weather this strongly, but it sort of mirrors her mood perfectly. The current state of her life.

 

She's in California, the sunshine state, everything should be bright and brilliant. Birds should be singing and half naked guys should be roller-blading their way towards an indecent exposure charge. She should be happier than this, happier than she's ever been. She's living the dream, **her** dream. She's on the fast track to getting everything she's ever wanted.

 

Almost.

 

And she thought the distance would help. That every added mile would make it easier, let her breathe again. Because she'd been holding her breath for years. It didn't do any of that though. Somehow the distance has made it worse and Beca might be able to breathe now, but every gasp is ragged and painful. Pitiful. And she knew she was going to miss everyone, knew that moving on from Barden was going to be hard, but she hadn't expected this. Two years on, mourning them like they're dead, even though she still keeps in touch. Even though she has visual evidence that they're all alive and well. Because the only reason she even has a Facebook account is so she can see their faces. She never posts anything, never likes anything. Just right-clicks on the photos and saves them to various folders on her computer.

 

She has two folders for Chloe.

 

One that's filled with photos of them from their years as Bellas, and one that holds every single picture the redhead has ever uploaded to Facebook. Or Instagram. And all of them are hidden inside another folder that she's labelled “W.I.Ps”, because no one can know that Beca Mitchell has a heart. No one can know that she misses her friends.

 

No one can know about Chloe.

 

Except Chloe herself, that is.

 

And maybe it's the weather, making people crazy – making **Beca** crazy – because it had seemed like a good idea last night. Curled up with her laptop, listening to the rain batter down against the metal frame of the fire exit outside of her apartment window. So she'd opened up her email and started to type. Letters forming words that had stretched into sentence after sentence. Starting with how much she misses Chloe.

 

And ending with **why**.

 

And she'd sent it.

 

Because it had seemed like a good idea at the time and it might finally make Chloe understand why Beca's been avoiding her calls. Not returning her texts.

 

Beca blinks, unsure if it's the rain against the window distorting her vision or something else.

 

It's something else.

 

She wrinkles her nose and swipes her fingers along the underside of her eyes.

 

And that's when she sees the cab pull up outside her building, bright yellow paint screaming against the dreary backdrop. She frowns, wondering who else got roped into coming in today as the seconds tick by. It could be anyone.

 

It really could be. Right up until the moment that the rear passenger side door opens and a woman steps out. And then it can only be one.

 

Because Beca would know that red hair anywhere.

 

Only it can't be. There's no way. Chloe's a four hour flight away and Beca hasn't spoken to her in weeks, and there's just no way it can be her. Whoever it is, the instant she steps out of the cab she's soaked and so she doesn't seem to feel there's any need to rush into the nearest doorway or pop an umbrella that she obviously don't have. She just stands there, looking around at the nearby buildings and then finally up at the one Beca's standing in the window of.

 

And even six storeys up, Beca recognises her. Can see every curve and freckle on her face, knows their placement like the back of her hand.

 

Even though it can't be, somehow it is.

 

She's fleeing from her office in an eye blink, bypassing the elevators and bursting through the door to the stairwell. She takes the steps two at a time at first, then when that isn't fast enough she starts taking them all at once. Using the banister as both a safety and swing-off point as she hurtles herself down flight after flight, around corner after corner, until she lands at the entry to the main floor. A bit out of breath and bent at the waist, taking a minute before yanking open the door. She jogs out into the lobby, a wide open space with an acid-washed cement floor made up of blacks and greens and reds, and sees Ashley and Devon – the reps at the front desk – in her periphery, shooting her a curious glance before exchanging looks. Beca doesn't jog, Beca doesn't run, Beca had once ridden through this very lobby on the back of her manager. Which, to be fair, had been his idea. Still, she realises that it's probably a strange sight; her hoofing it past the reception desk towards the double doors.

 

Towards Chloe. Who's standing outside and eyeing the intercom as she presses the buzzer, Beca can hear it going off at the desk. She hears Devon answer, his deep voice announcing his name and the name of the record label.

 

“Buzz her in!”

 

“Miss Mitchell, I-”

 

“Jesus Christ, dude! Don't argue with me, just buzz her in!” He does as he's told this time and Beca hears the buzzer go again. The sound of it draws Chloe's attention back to the door and their eyes meet as Beca skids to a stop. Chloe's hand wraps around the handle and tugs, cutting off the annoying electronic noise, and Beca hurries to pull it the rest of the way open so that Chloe can step inside. She does, sidestepping through the gap and Beca lets the door go. It closes with a dull thump.

 

And then they're staring at each other, barely two feet separating them.

 

Chloe is soaked to the bone. Her clothes cling to her, heavy and sodden, and her hair sticks to her face, somehow still managing to look perfect despite resembling rat tails. Her face is slick with moisture, her cheeks rosy, and there are raindrops resting against her eyelashes. They glitter when she blinks. Beca watches a single drop drip from the end of her nose.

 

“ _I think I've been in love with you since freshman year_?” Beca bites the inside of her cheek as Chloe quotes her own words back to her. She's frowning, looking mildly annoyed. Picture perfect, soggy fury, and if Beca thought the distance had been hard, actually seeing Chloe in the flesh is like a knife to the gut. “ _I'm not expecting anything from this, I just thought it was time you knew_?” Beca takes a half-step backwards and tries not to flinch when Chloe follows. A small puddle is starting to form around her and water flies from her fingertips when she gestures towards Beca with a hand. “ **This** is why you've just stopped talking to me?” Beca swallows and Chloe pushes wet strands away from her face. Chloe's gaze is bright and brilliant, just like California should be. “Are you **kidding** me, Mitchell?” She can feel two pairs of eyes boring into the back of her head, but Chloe's hold her. Deny her the ability to look away. She opens her mouth to say something and lets it work, silent and stupid, for a handful of seconds.

 

“I'm sorry?” She offers and feels every muscle in her body tense when Chloe's nostrils flare.

 

“You're an **idiot**.” Beca blinks.

 

“Uh.” Then Chloe's fingers are twisting into the front of Beca's shirt and she's pulling her in. And Beca goes, all wide eyes and awkward ineptitude, falling into Chloe in the exactly same way that she fell **for** her. Hard and heavy, but this time Chloe's there.

 

Finally catching her.

 

Her skin is wet, Beca feels the dampness streak across her nose as their lips meet and all the cold misery lingering outside melts away. Chloe's arms wind around Beca and pull her in tight, warm her, even as her clothes suck in the dampness from Chloe's everywhere their bodies meet. She doesn't really feel it. Doesn't feel anything above the sense of 'finally' that's threatening to swallow her alive and one thought swims in circles through her water-logged brain.

 

Chloe tastes like rain.


	4. Celebrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Bechloe Week. Prompt: Celebrate

* * *

“Becaw!!” Beca almost chokes on the straw she's sipping her drink through as she automatically spins in the direction of the shrill call. She sees him at the end of the hallway, in front of the bright blue door that Chloe is pushing to a close, and she turns back and forth on the spot, looking for somewhere to deposit her glass, before putting it down on the outside edge of the stair just above her head. She sucks her cheeks in as she swallows the fizzy liquid and then takes off running. She hears him laugh right before she launches herself into his waiting arms and he wraps them around her, hauling her up off the ground like she weighs nothing. She peppers the side of his dumb, smiling face with kisses and squeezes his neck.

 

“You came!” She says, mouth close to his ear. There's music filtering in from the sound system Beca had bought for the living room and she can see bodies moving to the beat in her periphery.

 

“Uh, duh?” He lets her down with an extra strong hug and she pulls a few strands of hair that have stuck to her lip gloss away with her pinky. “Like I'd miss your first big Mrs Producer Party.” She narrows her eyes.

 

“I told you, if you're just here for the hot singers, you're out of luck-”

 

“I don't think we need to worry about that.” A voice cuts in from behind him and Beca's gaze slides over to find Aubrey materialising at his side after surfacing from the bear of a hug Chloe had wrapped her in. She's stunning, as always, and she tilts her head to let her hair fall over her shoulder in a blonde wave as she looks at her boyfriend. “Right, Jess?” Beca's mouth forms a little 'o' before she twists her lips together in an attempt to stop herself from laughing. Jesse shoots her a glare and then turns his charm on Aubrey.

 

“Why would I want to look at any other woman, when I’ve got the most beautiful one in the world on my arm?” Chloe shuffles into line of sight around Jesse's shoulder and Beca catches her eye. The redhead mimes gagging and Beca has to bite down on the inside of her lip. Aubrey though, she's smiling at him like she thinks he's Casanova.

 

“Aw, babe that's so...” and Chloe seems to recognise Aubrey's tone before the rest of them do, “lame.” Jesse's face drops as the blonde takes hold of his chin in one hand and gives his head a little shake. “I can't even give you points for effort.” He rolls his eyes at her and she pats his cheek. “You suck.” Then she dismisses him by turning her attention to Beca. “Well, it's good to know you'll be able to keep Chloe fed and a roof over her head.” Beca's lips quirk into a smirk.

 

“Hi to you too, Aubrey.” They're both smiling and Beca returns Aubrey's hug with both arms. “The rest of the guys are already here. Cynthia Rose came out-”

 

“What, **again**?” Aubrey backhands Jesse's upper arm and he flinches away, rubbing at the spot and looking mildly offended. “It was a joke! I can joke!”

 

“From Maine, you douche.” Beca snaps with a wry smile. “Stace and Emily are in the kitchen.” She lifts her hand, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the kitchen over her shoulder, before she pauses and furrows her brow. “Which is probably the last person I should leave Legacy alone with.”

 

“You know, Bec,” Chloe pipes up, leaning against the door frame that leads to the living room, “Em's a big girl now. I really don't think there's anything that Stacie-”

 

“She is an **innocent** compared to Stacie.” The interruption is as serious to Beca as it is humorous to the rest of them, because they've all really enjoyed seeing this side of the surly, former captain blossom and flourish over the years. What had started out as just sort of a 'passing the torch protective' kind of thing had steadily grown to a point where Emily is literally like the little sister Beca never had.

 

“You know she's had sex right?” Chloe whispers and Beca's eyeballs almost fall out of their sockets. She turns from the three of them then, making her way back towards the kitchen.

 

“I'm not listening!” She grabs her drink on the way, repeating the same monotone “la la la” as Chloe keeps calling after her.

 

“Your girlfriend is a weirdo.” Jesse flashes her a grin and Chloe beams, wrinkling her nose up.

 

“I know. Isn't she awesome?” Jesse nods enthusiastically and beside him, Aubrey rolls her eyes.

 

“You're **both** weirdos.” They laugh and Aubrey shrugs out of her jacket. Chloe's eyes immediately zone in on her belly.

 

“Aubrey!” She shrieks and her best friend's eyes snap up to meet hers again. “What the heck is that?!” And she points, a little wildly, at the barely-there bump. Looking for all the world like a startled meerkat, Aubrey's attention darts to Jesse, who's gaping at nothing with his eyebrows raised.

 

“Uh...” he flounders, incredibly unhelpfully, and Chloe is holding herself so tense that Aubrey's afraid she's going to go off like a rocket at any given moment.

 

“Okay, Chloe, please don't scream.” She doesn't, all that comes out is a high-pitched squeak and her lips stretch into the widest smile either of them have ever seen. Which is including **their** smiles when they found out. “We didn't want to say anything because it's still early and Beca's been on the cusp of this for weeks now. We didn't want to steal her thunder.” And all at once, Chloe's smile turns watery. “And I didn't think anyone would be able to tell.” Jesse finds himself on the end of another smack as Aubrey turns to yell at him in a stage whisper. “You said you couldn't tell!!” Then turns back to Chloe, expression one of panic. “Can you tell?” But Chloe reaches out and takes hold of Aubrey's hands.

 

“Yes.” Aubrey lets out a little sound of distress and Chloe gives her hands a squeeze. “ **I** can tell. Because we've been best friends forever and I notice when you wear a different kind of mascara.”

 

“Oh.” Aubrey sighs, heavy and relieved. “You don't think Beca will?” Chloe makes a face.

 

“I love Beca, I really do, but she's kind of oblivious to most things.” Jesse scoffs and the sound makes them both jump. They'd kind of forgotten he was there.

 

“You don't say.” He's tugging at the top of his ear with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing over it and bending it down. “It only took her three years of dating me and one sharing an apartment with you,” he releases his ear to point at Chloe, “for her to finally realises she was in love with you.” Chloe winces her way through a smile, not sure how to take Jesse's tone. Because he and Beca have never not been fine, but she's always wondered if he's as okay with everything as he makes out. “She's awesome, but she's an idiot.” And then Chloe's smile cements itself, becomes genuine, and yeah. Okay. Maybe he is.

 

“Well,” Chloe says, exhaling dramatically after a few seconds of silence pass. “I guess we're celebrating twofold tonight.” But Aubrey's shaking her head in a manner that Chloe immediately thinks is too vigorous for a woman in her condition.

 

“This is Beca's night.” And it's spoken with such sincerity, Chloe nearly bursts into tears. Because they've all come so far. She gives Aubrey's hands a final squeeze before letting them go with a quiet “okay”. “I'm going to say hi to the girls.” Aubrey drifts into the living room and Jesse follows her, saluting Chloe with a big grin as he goes. Chloe steadies herself with a breath as she watches them for a moment, then heads in the direction of the kitchen.

 

She walks in to find Stacie standing in front of the refrigerator like a kitchen appliance catalogue model, arms folded and hip cocked, pointedly avoiding looking at Beca who's yelling at her about “-doesn't need to know about different flavours, Stacie!! Oh my **god**!!” with her arms raised above her head as though she's assuming the crash position. Emily is tucked safely behind the breakfast nook, face contorted with amusement, and Chloe sidles up beside her with a rueful smile.

 

“What started it this time?” Emily offers a half shrug.

 

“Condoms or lube, maybe body paint? I kinda tuned out. You know Stacie only does it to get her engine revving.” Chloe laughs and watches Beca's arms fly out every which way as she continues going at their friend like a pissed off chihuahua.

 

And yeah, Beca's kind of an idiot.

 

But she's Chloe's idiot.

 

And that's worth celebrating every day of the year.  


	5. Sport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Bechloe Week. Prompt #3 - Sport.

* * *

 “Just come to watch.” They said. “It'll be fun.” They said. “You can be the water girl and hand out bottles to all the gasping, hot and sweaty ladies.” They said.

 

What they **failed** to say, was that it was going to be sunny as shit and she was going to run the risk of passing out from heat exhaustion long before two p.m. rolled around and the female relay race got started. They also didn't mention that they'd be out of the stands like seventy percent of the time doing stretches or practising or god knows what, leaving her to brood alone in the stifling heat. She doesn't know how any of the people here are functioning right now, not when just **breathing** is making her sweat. It isn't like she's totally unhealthy, she eats green stuff, she isn't running any marathons but she shouldn't feel **this** out of shape.

 

“Hey, superstar.” Her eyes dart to their corners and she straightens from where she's slumped in plastic chair, as far into the corner, and the shade, as she can get. Jesse flashes her a winning smile. She gives him the finger. “Ouch, such hostility.” He drapes his arms over the green metal railing and leans against it. She's sat in the front row, about a dozen or so other people sitting in small clusters behind her. “Are you not embracing school spirit?”

 

“Do you want my fist to embrace your face?” It only makes his smile widen and he shakes his head, laughing.

 

“You're such a sourpuss, Becs.”

 

“And you are like a seventy-year-old man. Why can't you just call me a bitch like everyone else?” He clucks his tongue and frowns his disapproval.

 

“Because they don't know you like I do.” Beca rolls her eyes. “Or like C.R. does. Speaking of, did you see her high jump?” Beca finally cracks a smile at that. The other half of her best friend duo was, like, freakishly talented when it came to high jump. As in, she'd blown every other competitor out of the water.

 

“I did. Breaking records like a boss.” She arches an eyebrow at him. “You gonna break some too, Mister Javelin Man?” He pushes away from the railing and makes a show of flexing his arm muscles.

 

“Yeah. I'm going to break the record for Hottest Person With A Gold Medal.” She screws her face up, trying not to laugh. “Now if you'll excuse me,” still flexing, he twists an arm around to point to the right, “I'll be over there.” A chuckles slips free, because he's an idiot, and he blows her a kiss as he backs away. “Come watch me win! Relay's up right after anyway.” Then he turns and jogs towards his group. Beca pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks the time and mutters to herself.

 

“Well, look at that.” One-thirty, on the nose. “Guess I'll make it after all.”

 

She peels herself out of her seat, cringing at the way her clothes stick to her body, and heads down the cement steps and onto the warm, soft ground that she's pretty sure steam is steadily rising from.

 

Jesse's main competition is Bumper Allen, an over-confident jackass who thinks he's god's gift to pretty much everything and everyone. He'd tried hitting on Beca once, at a party that Jesse – surprise, surprise – had dragged her too and hadn't appreciated it when Beca shot him down. Painfully. In full view of everyone. And okay, so she might have thrown her drink in his face and **maybe** that had been uncalled for, but Bumper is an asshole and someone needed to knock him down a peg. Beca had been only too happy to oblige.

 

So, yeah. Maybe she almost screams herself hoarse cheering for Jesse when it's his turn to throw. Maybe she ignores the teacher's shouts when she runs onto the field after he's declared the winner and is standing there with his arms raised in victory yelling “Becaw”. Maybe she hugs him. Maybe she flips Bumper the bird.

 

She'll deny any and all accusations.

 

“I am going to **rock** that gold medal.” Jesse says, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walk off field. She grimaces and pushes it off.

 

“Ew, dude. You're so freaking sweaty.” He scoffs.

 

“That is what a **champion** feels like, Beca.” And then he's trying to hug her. “This is what victory smells like!” She's trying to get her arms up to throw her fists against his chest, but he keeps on advancing, his big, slick arms brushing again hers.

 

“No, no! Oh my god, get off me, you dick! I will knee you in the balls, I swear to-” Her foot catches on nothing and his arms fall away as gravity pulls her backwards. She feels herself hit something solid as her eyes instinctively screw shut and yep, that's definitely a person she's landed on. The startled “oh!” she hears also confirms that. When she opens her eyes again Jesse is gazing down at her with a wide-eyed stare and a slack jaw. She blinks and then sees the familiar stirrings of a smile pulling at his lips and if he laughs, she's going to kill him. Right here, right in front of all these people, she doesn't care how many witnesses there will be.

 

“Ow.” It's so sad and pathetic sounding, and it instantly reminds her that she's **lying** on someone. She rolls off to the side with an “oof” and onto all fours.

 

“Shit. I'm so sorry.” And Beca Mitchell rarely apologises with any kind of true sincerity, but she feels kind of bad about barrelling into someone since this was mostly her fault – well no, it was Jesse's fault, but she'll ream him out later. “Are you-” She lifts her head to turn it towards the fallen girl, who's wearing a pair of bright purple shorts and a hot pink tank, and is trying to sit up. Fiery red hair has been pulled back into a ponytail, rather than being allowed to fall in loose curls as is the usual – not that Beca would know, because she wouldn't – and if Beca's mouth weren't already dry from the incredible lack of moisture in the air, she's certain it would have developed a desert-like quality as her eyes landed on the girl.

 

Because **of course** she's just mowed down Chloe fucking Beale. Like it could have been anyone else from her school, from any of the schools that are here today. No, no, the universe is entirely too fucked up for that. It **had** to be Chloe. The brightest light at Barden High, the apple of every teacher's eye, the girl everyone wants to date or be best friends with. The popular girl who's also teeth-rottingly **nice** and doesn't just crap on people just because it's her right or something. And Jesus, **that's** why Jesse is smiling. Because of course Beca is going to literally fall all over the girl she's been crushing on since she first found out what that word meant.

 

It had to be Chloe fucking Beale. With her perfect hair and the most stunning blue eyes Beca has ever seen – which is saying something because **Beca** has blue eyes and that really shouldn't be anything that catches her attention, yet she's rendered mute and stupid whenever they fall on her – only now her eyes are different in a way Beca's never seen before.

 

It takes her a second to realise that's because they're watering and she watches as Chloe reaches for her ankle in slow motion.

 

Did she mention that Chloe's also Barden's Relay Princess?

 

When her fingers make contact, Chloe winces and pulls them back with a strangled sob and it's like the sound stabs itself into Beca's chest.

 

“Oh, shit.” And then she's crawling over on her knees and stopping in front of Chloe, straightening to rest back on her haunches. Chloe's ankle is already swelling. “Oh shit, shit, shit.” She holds her hands out, uselessly, eyes flicking up to meet Chloe's as her mouth works silently. Then she turns her head to Jesse and barks orders at him. “Don't just stand there, dude! Go and get a first aider!” He blinks, she glowers, then he's of. Running as fast as his legs will carry him across the field. She turns back to Chloe, who's gripping her injured leg above her ankle in both hands. “I'm **so** sorry, Chloe. I swear, I didn't see you.” The redhead bites her lips and shakes her head, a single tear rolling along her cheek as she clutches at her leg tightly

 

“I wasn't looking where I was going.” Beca's hands tremble as they reach out again, although she has no idea what she's intending to do with them.

 

“No, this was totally my fault. I'm such an **idiot**.” She recognises that hysteria is leaking into her voice, but that doesn't mean she's able to control it. “Jesus Christ, of course I have to take out our relay star **minutes** before the race. For fu-” She also isn't able to control the way her breath audibly catches when Chloe takes one of her uselessly flailing hands in her own and their eyes meet.

 

“Beca, stop.” Right. Because she'd be totally capable of saying anything more right now, even if Chloe allowed it. “Please just,” she feels Chloe squeeze her hand, then rub her thumb back and forth over Beca's knuckles, “stop. This wasn't your fault.” And this is just awesome because Beca feels like she's about to pass out and she's pretty sure it doesn't have anything to do with the heat this time. Not the heat that's coming from sun anyway.

 

“You... that's...” Okay, so she definitely hasn't given her mouth permission to move. To do that thing where it makes sound. Would never dream of doing such a thing, not with Chloe Beale looking at her, glassy-eyed and wearing a pained smile. “My name.” Chloe furrows her brow. “You know it.” Her frown deepens.

 

“What?” All Beca can do is blink stupidly at her. “Of course I know your name. We've gone to school together for like, the last four years.” And yeah, that's true, but this is probably the most they've spoken in that time. Beca didn't think she was even on Chloe's radar. She doesn't register on most people's, even after the whole 'Bumper' thing. She's still just staring like an idiot when Chloe winces through another flare of pain and looks around. “I hope your boyfriend brings an ice pack back with him.”

 

“He's not my boyfriend.” Beca blurts, drawing Chloe's gaze back to her. For some reason, it feels really super important that she clear that up. Largely because ew and also, just, because, okay? And she's sure she just imagines the way Chloe's eyes flit about her face, like she's interested in or looking for something. Beca's chest feels tight.

 

“I'm back! We're here.” Jesse skids to a stop beside them and an attractive older girl with dark hair drops into a crouch next to Chloe. She catches Jesse raising an eyebrow at their joined hands and when Beca, suddenly self-conscious, tries to pull away, Chloe tightens her hold and flashes her a hurt expression. Like she doesn't understand why Beca would want to take her hand away for her.

 

“My name is Stacie.” She says with a bright smile. “And despite my insane good looks and what some people might otherwise think because of them, I’m actually a completely qualified first aider and am training to be a nurse.” It's seems a little unnecessary if you ask Beca, but no one is and Chloe nods at Stacie. “Let's take a look at that ankle, shall we?”

 

They have to cut Chloe's shoe off. By the time ice has been applied and they're bandaging her up, a crowd has gathered. People are shooting Beca glares, because somehow word has gotten out that she's the Tonya Harding in all of this, but Chloe's grip on her hand reminds strong and steady. Even as her best friend, and relay partner, Aubrey Posen is screeching at the top of her lungs about what a travesty this is and that the race should really be called off. She tries sinking her claws into Beca but Chloe cuts that off with a quiet but firm utterance of Aubrey's name and a very pointed stare.

 

Beca has no idea what any of it means, only that it feels like it means **something**.

 

When she's forced to let go of Chloe's hand so that they can get her onto a stretcher and load her into the ambulance – Beca is going to **die** of embarrassment – she feels an instant, totally clichéd emptiness at the loss of contact.

 

“Can Beca come with me?” When she hears that though, question being aimed at their Principal and spoken in such a **Chloe** way that there's no chance the request will be denied, that emptiness lessens a bit.

 

Beca climbs into the back of the ambulance with the Principal and Stacie the first aider, and Chloe immediately reaches out for her hand again. Beca lets her take it.

 

“The least you can do is look after me, considering this was all your fault.” The pain meds must be kicking in because Chloe is **playing** with her and her eyes look more like their usual, dazzling selves. And Beca can't quite bring herself to argue or feel bad about the playful accusation.

 

Because she's more than happy to be in charge of taking care of Chloe.


	6. Babies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Bechloe Week. Prompt #5 - Babies.

* * *

 

“I think we should have a baby.” And that's how Beca broaches the subject, wrapped around a naked, sweaty Chloe who's barely been given time to come down from the heights to which Beca has just taken her. She blinks a few times to try and get her vision to focus, only to give up and resign herself to blurry eyesight for the time being. She shifts in Beca's arms, cringing at the way their skin sticks together, until she's facing her and finds dark eyes peering back, curiously.

 

“Are you being serious right now?” She asks, breathless, trying to push away the strands of hair that are sticking to her face. Beca pulls an arm away from where it's wound around Chloe's middle to help her. “Because you're kind of saying it like you think we should maybe get out of bed and have breakfast or lunch or, wait, what time is it?” Beca half rolls over to check the alarm clock beside the bed, bright green and plastered with the cheery face of Kermit the frog because Chloe refuses to 'grow up' and Beca wouldn't have her any other way.

 

“Eleven forty-three. Whoops.” When she turns back, she's wearing the kind of smug, shit-eating grin that should make Chloe feel sick. “We're definitely going to be late.” Chloe hums her agreement but doesn't look worried.

 

“Aubrey will understand.” It's not like they're going to be **that** late and forgiving is what best friends do best. Beca arches an eyebrow as she traces fingers along the smooth expanse of Chloe's bare back. Their sheets are a tangled mess at the bottom of the bed and Beca's eyes keep flicking down to roam the redhead's body.

 

“By understand, do you mean you're going to text her and tell her we got distracted having sex and she'll be too grossed out to yell at us?” Chloe beams and extends the first finger of her left hand to poke the tip against Beca's nose.

 

“I love how well you know me.” Beca bats her hand away and the motion pulls a giggle from Chloe.

 

“Yeah, well.” And her demeanour shifts then, just a little, towards an odd sort of shyness that really has no place being in the bed with them while they're both as naked as they are. “You're like the only person I’ve ever really **wanted** to get to know, so...” Chloe feels it shaping her lips; that same stupid smile she wears whenever Beca shows this side of herself. Because these moments are rare, but they're so touching and precious because of that, and just because Beca doesn't recite poetry to her on a nightly basis, Chloe knows that doesn't mean she loves her any less. It's just the way Beca is. Emotions make her uncomfortable, even now, so that she's stepping outside of her comfort zone again – like she's done so many times for Chloe in the past – makes Chloe's heart skip in the exact same way it did that first time. “And I mean, you're amazing.” The way Beca can't quite maintain eye contact, the way her toes brush over Chloe's calf anxiously and without rhythm, the way she keeps pausing to take a breath; Chloe's heart skips so many times, she's sure it stops. “And I love you. So like, I was thinking maybe I'd wanna get to know a mini-you too.”

 

Then Beca brings her eyes back up and Chloe sees the way the brunette's resolve wavers before she manages to lock her gaze in place and hold it there, hand stilling at her back.

 

“You're serious.” Because there's no doubting Beca's expression. And they've talked about this, multiple times, but it's always been in an off-handed manner. They'll pass a cute kid at the mall and Beca will find herself being jerked to a halt, because Chloe's decided to stop and say hello. Or they'll pass through the baby section at a clothing store and Beca will comment on the tiny plaid shirts and mini converse. And one of them will say “We'd have awesome babies” and the other will agree.

 

Beca blows out a breath that screams uncertainty, but she nods.

 

Chloe feels her face transform under the strain of her smile as it stretches wide and she lets out a burst of excited laughter, kicking her legs into the air before rolling onto Beca. Whose dark eyes brighten at the sight and shine with her own smile as she loops her arms around Chloe. She presses her hands to either side of Beca's face and kisses her, sloppily because she can't stop giggling.

 

“We're gonna have a baby.” She whispers, smile stretching from ear to ear and Beca bits her lip before wrinkling her nose.

 

“Yeah.” And then Beca is laughing. Loud and free, and every inch of Chloe warms at the sight. Is so distracted by it, that she lets out a surprised shriek when Beca bodily flips them over and presses her down into the mattress. Grinning above her, she tangles her legs with Chloe's and steals a kiss. “We're,” then another, “having,” and another, “a baby.” Until she's kissing Chloe in a way that is impossible to giggle through. Firm and slow, reigniting fires and burning Chloe up from the inside.

 

And it would be such bad form to cancel on Aubrey an hour before their lunch date, but Chloe considers it.

 

For a long few minutes.

 

* * *

 

Beca takes the steps at the front of their house two at a time, the newspaper she'd been pretending to read on the subway so that people wouldn't try to talk to her poised over her head to deflect the raindrops. It doesn't really work, but she can't bring herself to just lower her arm. Because that would be admitting defeat and Beca won't allow such a thing.

 

She's fumbling for her keys when the bright blue door in front of her opens and eyes that put the shade to shame are taking in her bedraggled appearance with wide-eyed concern.

 

“Beca!” Chloe reaches out with both hands and wraps them around Beca's forearms, dragging her over the threshold. “What are you doing? Why didn't you call me? I could have picked you up!” Sopping wet, Beca closes the door and drops the newspaper onto the rug. She holds her arms out in front of her and shakes them out, hoping to maybe drip dry all over the welcome rug. It's not really working though, so she peels her jacket off and hangs it on one of the hooks on the wall to dry.

 

“You had that appointment thingy.” She reminds her, turning around with her hands on her hips to raise an eyebrow. “Oh my **god** , were you just saying that so you could be alone with your mistress? Is that what's happening here?” Chloe laughs at Beca's horrified expression and grabs her by one damp hand, tugging her in the direction of the stairs.

 

“I'm sorry you had to find out like this.” She sighs dramatically and leads Beca up to the second floor as though they haven't been living here for five years. Beca brushes a raindrop from the tip of her nose and keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Chloe's backside the whole way. “I was hoping to break it to you tonight, actually. Maybe over a glass of wine or a beer-”

 

“Or a Doctor Pepper because those are gross.”

 

“Or that.” She can hear Chloe grinning as she's steered into the bathroom. Chloe lets go of Beca's hand and opens the shower door, leaning in to turn the handle. She straightens and turns back to help Beca out of the t-shirt clinging to her that she's currently half trapped in. She shivers once it's off and Chloe tosses it into the hamper. “I was going to tell you that she means nothing to me and it's strictly sex. Really hot, sweaty, animalistic sex.” Her hands work Beca pants open and the brunette pouts as Chloe drops to her knees and takes sodden denim with her.

 

“But that's my favourite kind to have with you.” She lifts her feet out of of the jeans and sits on the lid of the toilet seat to take off her socks, dropping them into the hamper as well.

 

“Like I said, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. But I called it off. You're much better in bed anyway.” Chloe tilts Beca's head up and drops a kiss against her lips as she moves by her. “Since that topic of discussion is out for the evening though, I'll have to go with my backup.” Beca stands, holding a hand under the stream of water to test the temperature, looking over her shoulder at Chloe.

 

“Backup?”

 

“The sooner you shower and get your cute butt downstairs, the sooner you find out.” Beca arches an eyebrow but Chloe's gone without another word, leaving her to discard her underwear and step into the heaven that is a nice hot shower.

 

*

 

“Okay, I've got it.” She says, padding down the staircase in a thick pair of sweats and a plush hoodie. Chloe looks up from where she's sitting on the living room couch, watching Beca approach through the doorway. “You're taking me to Disneyland to make up for the affair.” Chloe rolls her eyes as Beca drops down beside her, heavily enough to move the entire couch despite her being smaller than some dogs. She tucks her legs under her and cuddles into Chloe's side, resting her head against the back of the couch.

 

“Mm, no. Sorry.” She doesn't sound very sorry though.

 

“First, the mistress, now no Disneyland? You are a constant disappointment to me.” Beca smirks and leans in to steal a kiss. Chloe doesn't really return it though. She's actually kind of stiff and, well, awkward. Beca pulls back, brow creasing into a deep frown as something sickly and ugly claws at the pit of her stomach. “What's wrong? You know I was kidding, right?” She wonders if she looks as stricken as she sounds, because Chloe rests a hand against her knee and gives it a comforting squeeze.

 

“Of course. There's nothing wrong, I just...” but she's fidgeting. And Chloe doesn't fidget, she's all in from the get go. Beca's the one with the spinner rings and nervous habits. That isn't Chloe, so Beca's not sure who she's looking at right now, especially when that person lets out a shaky exhale and a strangled laugh. “I don't know why I’m so nervous.” Which Beca echoes with an anxious one of her own and a pained smile.

 

“Okay well, you're freaking your wife out, so if you figure that out can you let me know asap?” Immediately, Chloe looks crestfallen.

 

“I'm sorry. There really isn't... I’m just being a freak. It's fine.” She reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear and flashes a smile. “Everything is fine, I promise.” But Beca's frown remains and she scoots away so that they aren't pressed quite as flush.

 

“Then why all the weirdness?” Chloe worries her lip for a few heart beats and then turns to take something off of the end table next to her arm of the couch. When she turns back, she holding a pale turquoise box – or maybe it's aqua? Or some other random variation. Chloe's the one who knows her colours and she makes a mental note to ask her later – between her hands. There's a white satin ribbon tired around it and Beca watches Chloe lick her lips before offering it to her. She takes it, but glances up at Chloe through her lashes.

 

“Did I forget a date?” That draws a smile from the other woman and she shakes her head.

 

“No.” Beca makes a show of acting relieved, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and then looking down at the box. “Open it.” With one last look at Chloe, who's gone back to biting her lip, Beca pinches one end of the ribbon between her thumb and index finger and pulls.

 

After a brief and minor entanglement, the ribbon is undone and the ends fall to either side of Beca's lap. Then she tentatively grasps the lid, but pauses when she hears Chloe's sharp inhale. Dark eyes flick to light.

 

“Sorry.” Chloe mumbles. “Keep going.” So she does, lifting the lid off and setting it aside before looking down at the contents.

 

And there have been only a handful of moments in Beca's life powerful enough to make her heart actually skip a beat. The first time Chloe kissed her, the first time she saw Chloe naked – after the shower, although maybe she should add that to the list too – when she signed with her first record label, the few seconds before she proposed and the moment Chloe answered. That time Amy had threatened to move in with them.

 

And now this one.

 

The moment that finds her staring down into a turquoise-aqua box, at a tiny pair of light green baby booties.

 

She feels her mouth fall open, feels chills sweep along her back, feels her heart skip and stumble, before stopping altogether. Then kick back into overtime. She shoots straight up, rocketing to her feet, still clutching the box and spinning to Chloe.

 

“You're **pregnant**?!” She's shrieking, she's aware of it, but that doesn't mean she can make it stop. She turns back and forth on the spot like she doesn't know where to go or what to do, and she doesn't. So she just stands in front of Chloe, who's looking up at her with a small smile and Beca's grin is so big she's sure she can see its reflection in Chloe's eyes. And Beca is all at once, and rather viciously, overcome by how much she loves her. How much she feels for her. It hits her like a pleasant punch to the chest and makes her eyes water. “Are you for real?” And when Chloe nods and laughs, the sound wet and throaty and her own eyes glistening, Beca doesn't think she's ever been this happy.

 

She drops to her knees and shuffles forward until Chloe's are digging into her stomach. Then she kisses her, firm and full, pouring every ounce of the happiness she's feeling into it. When they break apart, Beca lingers close, pressing their foreheads together and revelling in the feel of Chloe's breaths against her face.

 

“That's not the end of it though.” Beca's eyes pop open and she leans back to look at her. Chloe's lips quirk at the corners and she lifts a hand to tap a finger against the box still in Beca's grasp. Beca looks down at it again, at the booties, and the tissue paper that it's sitting on.

 

Then, very carefully, she takes the booties out and rests them, reverently, against Chloe's thigh, before folding back the paper.

 

To reveal a second pair of identical booties.

 

Her head snaps up.

 

Chloe's eyes are twinkling, lips curved into a smirk.

 

“Surprise.” 


	7. The One Time Chloe Met Spider-Man. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Inspired by [this gifset](http://bechloe88.tumblr.com/post/125935130452/tent-scene-directors-commentary). And the fact that [bechloe88](http://bechloe88.tumblr.com) came screaming at me to write this. So. Yeah. This one is for you again, asshole. =P

* * *

Chloe Beale knows better. Knows this town like the back of her hand. Knows the quickest route to the theatre just like she knows when to avoid fifty-fifth. Just like she knows  **not** to venture down back alleys after dark. Or before dark for that matter. This part of town was pretty sketch no matter the time of day.

 

So, when she hears a low whistle bouncing off the damp brick of the alley walls, her hand freezes where it's searching for her keys in her bag and for an instant, her eyes flutter shut.

 

“Looks like we're getting delivery tonight, boys.” When she looks up, she finds that there are four of them in total, all tall and scruffy. A heavy, sick feeling sends her heart sinking towards her stomach, but she gathers her confidence as her fingertips finally graze the metal of a keyring and she pulls them out of her bag, letting it fall to sway by its strap alongside her hip. “I should warn you though,” this directed at Chloe, who closes her hand around her keys and levels her gaze at the man, “we don't tip.”

 

“No worries.” Although her voice trembles slightly, she's impressed by how sure of herself she sounds. “You couldn't afford me anyway.” He doesn't seem to appreciate her sentiment. His mouth twists into a snarl and neither he nor the men around him waste any time in advancing on her.Thunder rumbles over head and the heavens open to drip fat drops of rain against cracked cement.

 

The tendrils of fear working their way through her with chilly unease tighten around her muscles, making it difficult for her to move, and she almost trips backwards when she tries to turn and run, only to find her way blocked by one of the men. He grins down at her, the sickly orange-yellow floodlight shining down on them from the building opposite illuminating the stains on his teeth.

 

“Look, just,” she offers her bag to him, bare arms slick with rain and t-shirt starting to steadily soak through, “you can have everything in here. I don't want any trouble.” He reaches towards her and she feels adrenaline race along her spine.

 

“I don't need your permission.” He growls. “If I want something, I take it.” His fingers, boney and dirty, snake around the strap of her bag and tug. Chloe's expression hardens in the blink of an eye and as he tugs, so does she, pulling him into her. She digs the point of her car key into his stomach as she drives a knee into his groin. He drops like a sack of bricks, hitting the ground and sending water flying as he lands face first in a puddle that had started to form. She feels a rush of air at her back, like someone running at her, and spins in time to see the man who'd first spoken to her doing just that.

 

_**THWIP!!** _

 

But he doesn't make it to her.

 

_**SWIK!!** _

 

His arms are still reaching forwards when he's yanked back violently away from Chloe, who watches as he sails through the air and crashes into the side of a large metal garbage can sitting at the back door of Ling Foo's Chinese restaurant. He hits it so hard that the metal dents and he falls into an unconscious, crumpled heap at the foot of it. The two goons still standing stare at their fallen comrade, but Chloe can tell they still haven't caught on to what's happening.

 

But she has.

 

Chloe knows.

 

And so, she waits for it.

 

_**THWIP!!** _

 

Sinewy, almost iridescent strands of what can only be described as webbing catch the raindrops as they shoot out from one shadowy corner of the buildings bracketing the alley, sending a thrill through Chloe, wild and vibrant. And in that instant, she knows she's safe. Knows, without a doubt, that she's going to be okay. The web, each silky strand coalescing into one impossibly strong length of something like rope, fans out at the end and stickily covers the tallest man's face. His hands go up to try and tear the substance from his skin, but Chloe spies a movement overhead and despite her situation, her lips curve into a smirk. She watches as the lithe body flips off the side of one building, throwing out a free arm and shooting a second web, anchoring them to the opposite side and pulling their body over. Meanwhile the other hand, still holding one end of the web attached to the man's face, rides the tailwind of their body and tugs the man half way along the wet street before a flick of both hands sends him somersaulting up, then down hard into the ground. That's when the last man is finally brought up to speed and he makes a break from the mouth of the alley, spraying Chloe's lower half with rain water as he whips by her.

 

Above and behind her, something lands lightly against the fire exit walkway of the building and she looks back to find a figure of shadowed red and blue perched on the railing, forearm poised, aiming their hand.

 

“Oh, no you don't.” The now familiar voice carries over the rain that's pounding hard against the pavement, and with one final 'thwip' the retreating coward finds himself snared by first one, then two separate lines of webbing. Chloe watches, riveted, as her masked saviour wraps an end around each hand once for added leverage, then leaps high into the air. Taking the man up with them, the costumed hero plants a foot against the brick facade of the building opposite and then pushes off towards Chloe's side again. The man shrieks as he's held in midair, while the hero takes their time fastening the web ends to a long length of wire stretched between the buildings, before back-flipping off the wall, twirling legs sending raindrops in all directions and letting him fall. “Take five.” He screams and it catches painfully when the web unexpectedly pulls taught to leave him hanging.

 

Chloe watches the figure land in the middle of the alley, sees them spare a glance at the man still groaning and clutching his groin before spitting out three balls of webbing that trap his hands, feet and muffle his cries. Then they're aiming high above Chloe, shooting with both hands and then launching themselves up into the shadows. She cranes her head back, blinking against the rain and slowly turning on the spot, searching the darkness.

 

“You're really good at getting into trouble, you know that?” With a gasp that carries over half the statement, Chloe spins to find herself face to face with her rescuer. Lithe indeed, but shorter than she'd expected, body toned and tiny. Even when danging upside down.

 

“And y **ou** are an exceptionally skilled stalker.” The hands clenched the length of webbing shift and grasp without reason at the teasing accusation. The material of the costume looks like it would be soft to touch and a stylized black spider stretches across an ample bosom that rises and falls with little exertion. The white eyes of the mask don't give much away in regard to the eyes that lie underneath, but whenever Chloe looks at them, she knows that they're always looking back.

 

“Dude, no. I was just, I was in the neighbourhood.” Even from fifty feet up. She can always feel them on her. “Seriously though, I think you should start considering just staying home. Order in. Watch some trashy T.V.” Chloe grins and pushes wet curls back from her face.

 

“But then how would I get to see you?” The masked head before her tilts to one side and Chloe bites her lip, because she'd love to see the expression being aimed at her right now. And she wonders if this town's resident superhero gets this a lot, the playful flirting, because every time they run into one another it's right there. As easy as it was the last time and just waiting to be picked back up.

 

“Maybe I could start making house calls.” The voice is muffled by the mask, but Chloe loves the sound of it regardless. The snark and sarcastic edge to it.

 

“You'd do that for lil' old me?” She wrinkles her nose as she asks, a single drop of rain running along the length of it and then leaping from the tip. Her hero shrugs and the motion looks odd upside down. Chloe wonders how long she can hold the positioning for, feet looped around the web she's grasping with both hands.

 

“Just because everyone around here **thinks** I'm an asshole, that doesn't mean I actually am one.” Chloe furrows her brow and takes a step forward, conscious of the splash her foot makes against the puddles that are slowly converging into a small river.

 

“I think you're amazing.” She does and she'll tell anyone who dares try to say otherwise. Because the low, derisive hum that leaves the woman who has just saved Chloe's life makes the redhead feel desperately sad.

 

“Glad I've got someone on my side.” And the quiet note of gratitude in the voice breaks her heart. “Thank you.”

 

And this isn't the first time they've been somewhere like this, together. This isn't the first time that the 'Masked Menace' has saved her life. Isn't the first time Chloe's felt this irrefutable pull to a person she barely even knows and yet feels so undeniably connected to. Feels like she understands, like she 'gets'. And Chloe finds it easy to talk to almost anyone, with the exception of the idiots strewn about the alley around her and similar such scumbags, but – and this isn't the first time she's thought this – she's sure that it shouldn't be **this** easy to talk to a perfect stranger with a penchant for wearing tights, who keeps saving her life. Yet somehow, it is.

 

She steps closer and lifts her hands towards the masked marvel who's developing a habit of swinging into her dreams.

 

“Do I get to say thank you this time?” And she smiles as her fingers find the seam where the mask meets the neck of the costume and slips beneath. A sharp inhale serves as her answer and pulls anticipation through her like a needle weaving thread. Slowly, pale skin is revealed, smooth and soft looking. Then the line of a jaw and the rounded edge of earlobes. The curve of a mouth that parts in surprise.

 

“Wait...” Chloe pauses, pulling in one shallow breath after another as she watches that mouth move for the first time. Watches the way it forms the letters and brings the word to life. She sees dark hair tucked into the back of the costume and feels her fingers itch to touch it. Her own lips shift into a smirk.

 

“I promise I'll be gentle.” Instead she presses the heels of her hands to the sides of her hero's face and leans in to catch lips that are damp from the rain but warm from the mask. And Chloe sighs so heavily into the kiss that she hears it echoed.

 

All around them, the sky sheds its tears as thunders rolls, and Chloe parts the other woman's lips as lightning streaks through the clouds. Her fingertips brush along the column of a neck as her tongue is met stroke for lazy stroke and her heart hammers inside her chest. Unable to contain her growing smile, Chloe's teeth graze a full lip and she almost stumbles backward when her dangling hero's grip slips and she slides down an inch or two.

 

“Jesus.” She barks, but she's chuckling, albeit a little ruefully. Chloe steps away with her fingers pressed to her lips as the other woman tugs her mask back into place with a shake of her head. “You are... something else.” Chloe feels giddy at the sound of her voice; heavy and breathless, pitted with disbelieving humour.

 

With another flick of her wrist and a second hastily shot web, the woman is pulling herself skyward and out of Chloe's reach.

 

And Chloe is laughing towards the blackened sky as rain dances off her skin and slides over her lips.

 

“Thank you!” She calls out, beaming like she isn't soaked to the bone.

 

Then, after a handful of seconds.

 

“You're welcome!” It's more distant, maybe coming from the rooftop this time. “Now go home!”

 

Chloe laughs again.

 

She really can't wait for that home visit.

 


	8. Yoga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by loumauve** \- sometimes I really want a story where Beca goes to yoga class because of a dare and Chloe's the instructor and Bexa huffs and puffs because fuck is yoga harder than she thought

* * *

 

It's a stupid dare, she could have just said no and then distracted Jesse by offering to watch a movie with him. It would literally have been that easy. Only Aubrey had been there and she'd given Beca that look. The one that's all smug and patronizing and screams "I'm laughing my scorn at you with my eyes", and Aubrey just really gets under her skin okay? Does that make Beca weak? Does it make her even less of a 'bigger person' than her height already deems her?

Yes, probably. But she's only human and it was worth agreeing just to wipe the smirk off Aubrey's face. She clings to that now, fifteen minutes after walking through the door to the yoga studio and seven minutes into the actual yoga part of the class. And there's a whole eight minutes in there that goes largely unaccounted for, that Beca lost somewhere between dropping the bag she'd brought a change of clothes in and the instructor coming over and introducing herself.

Because Jesus Christ, people like this actually exist? People who look like they've been ripped off of the front page of "Vogue: The Exercise Edition" and don't sweat, and just generally go around making people like Cameron Diaz look unattractive with their bright blue eyes and genuine smiles.

How is that even possible?

Her name is Chloe and she's as cheery as freaking sunshine and about as blinding. Which is a really, really cornball thing for Beca to even think but there's some kind of disconnect in her brain right now and it's allowing all of these thoughts to slip though unhindered.

"Looks like everyone's here." Chloe's voice jars Beca out of her reverie and she blinks to find that she's already looking at the instructor and oh my god, how long has seen been doing that for? "Let's get started!" She clasp her hands together and Beca jumps a little, catching Chloe's attention and prompting one brilliant blue eye to wink at her. Beca looks away and prays she isn't blushing, because they haven't even begun the work out yet, so she isn't going to be able to blame her red cheeks on exertion.

They go through some warm up stretches and, since this is a beginner's class, start out with some of the easier positions and it's all going fine. Until Chloe takes them from the downward dog into the crow pose, which is a ridiculous pose and would have stayed that way if Beca hadn't been a giant, giant pervert.

Because she's pretty sure no one else in the room has noticed that the position, as silly as it looks, provides her with a perfect view down Chloe's tank. And suddenly it isn't silly anymore, it's incredibly inappropriate and distracting, and weirdly erotic because Beca is in a room full of sweaty women who are huffing and puffing, and she can't. Look. Away.

She's desperately trying to gather up the scattered molecules of her attention in order to focus on balancing properly when Chloe's eyes lift from where they've been focused on the floor and immediately catch hers. Like she'd been able to feel Beca's gaze. And there's an impossibly long second where Beca stares back, wide-eyed and mortified, before Chloe's lips slide into a smirk.

And that's when Beca's hand slips against the mat she's crouched on, sending her down hard against right shoulder.

 _Oh, fuck me._  She thinks, because actually forming and producing words right now is completely out the question. She lies there motionless, her face pressed against material that's slick with sweat, eyes screwed closed until she feels a hand on the arm she's hasn't possibly fractured.

"Are you okay?" The voice is sickly sweet and, even worse, it's  **sincere**  and Beca takes a deep breath before looking up. Chloe's kneeling beside her, face a mask of concern, and thumb gently rubbing over the curve of her shoulder. And she's really close now and Beca can see the way her eyes glitter and smell her deodorant, and Chloe is really pretty. She's gorgeous. She's;

"Fine." Chloe lifts an eyebrow at the word and now Beca  **knows**  she's blushing. She bites her teeth together in a wincing smile. "I mean, I'm fine. I didn't... I'm okay. I just slipped." Chloe doesn't seem too concerned with accepting that though and she helps Beca into a siting position, her hands wandering over the brunette's body in a way that is probably just supposed to be helpful or reassuring or something, but it's making Beca's every muscle jump and twitch.

"Okay then," Chloe's smile almost knocks Beca on her ass again, "I'm going to stay here and make sure you don't slip again. Let me help." And Beca wants to argue, wants to insist that she can do this, she knows how to balance, she's been doing it pretty well since she learned how to walk.

"Um, okay." She feels flushed and flustered and Chloe's hands never really leave her as the redhead urges her back into position, running her fingers over Beca's bare arms to place them just so. Then Chloe is behind her, gripping Beca's hips and lifting her a little higher, and a quiet whimper slips out from between Beca's parted lips before she can clamp them closed and she hopes, prays that the quiet chatter around them is enough to cover it.

Chloe drapes her body over Beca's back, one arm reaching down to adjust the positioning of Beca's leg and bringing her mouth close enough to Beca's ear for her to whisper, "You know, I could offer you a private lesson, if that's something you'd be interested in?" And Beca nearly chokes on the breath she tries to take as Chloe's weight disappears and the woman straightens behind her, walking back around to the front of the class.

"Let me know how that works for you Beca, okay?" She asks and Beca looks up from between messy strands of her hair to find Chloe's gaze still on her. Unwavering and bold. Confident and promising. She blows out a deep breath and feels her legs shake a little.

Who knew yoga would be this intense?


	9. Nap Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Anon prompted** : Chloe comes home and finds Beca stretched out on the couch with her headphones on, slipping in and out of a doze. Familiarity breeds cute intimacy (think casual forehead kisses that just ARE), and Chloe ends up snuggled up on the couch too. One or more of the other Bellas finds them and after securing evidence of cuteness leaves them to their nap.

* * *

When she leaves that morning, it's with a kiss pressed to Beca's temple and a smile on her face. Beca mutters something grouchy under her breath but she doesn't pull away anymore or rub feverishly at the spot with the back of her hand. A hand that she lets Chloe hold without complaint now, and sometimes she'll even absently stroke her thumb over the redhead's knuckles when she's not paying attention to herself. Chloe loves the familiarity, loves the closeness they've managed to culture, loves the underlying intimacy and that doesn't have to necessarily be sexual. Though she'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it. But she loves being Beca's friend – she sometimes thinks, hopes, she might be Beca's **best** friend – and she'd prefer to stay her friend, rather than go back to just **thinking** about being that.

 

When she returns later on that afternoon, whistling as she opens the front door, the house is quiet. Which isn't something to cause alarm; Chloe's usually the first one home from classes on Friday. Well, with the exception of Beca, who she's pretty sure sneaks out of her last one early to get a head start on the weekend, but she denies it whenever Chloe asks. But Beca arriving ahead of her is the reason Chloe heads for the staircase, intending to climb them in search of the other woman, but the faint sound of music leaking out through headphones gives her pause. She swivels in the direction of the 'good' living room and peers over the back of the couch, her small smile growing wider as she takes in the scene before her.

 

'Badass' Beca Mitchell is lying across of the three-seater, the back of her head pressed against the arm of the couch and chin almost touching her chest, looking for all the world like an adorably slumbering angst-riddled teenager, with her too-big hoodie and giant headphones she's currently wearing as a necklace. The thick eye makeup that Chloe has watched be meticulously applied on multiple occasions has been smudged across closed eyelids, making her wonder if Beca had been rubbing them in her sleep. Because she **is** sleeping, stretched out on her back with her feet crossed at the ankles and hands resting, fingers laced together, against her stomach. Her chest rises and falls in short, even breaths and Chloe almost lets out a squeak at the sight. She presses her fingers to her mouth though, holding it in, and takes a few moments to just appreciate the view.

 

Beca really **is** adorable right now. And Chloe has to redouble her effort to not make any sudden, high-pitched sounds when Beca's hand comes up to rub at the end of her nose, movements quick with agitation. She thinks she hears Beca mumble something as she tries to adjust the angle of her neck and Chloe decides she should probably wake her.

 

 

“Bec?” She whispers, rounding the side of the couch and perching beside Beca's hip on the edge of the cushion. The brunette wrinkles her nose, but doesn't open her eyes. “Beca.” She tries again and Beca's hand comes up for a second time to scratch at the side of her face. A chuckle wriggles its way between Chloe's lips and she reaches out, touching her palm to Beca's shoulder. “Becs.” Then resting it against her cheek. “Your neck's going to be sore if you stay here.” She brushes her thumb back and forth a few times, smiling at the sigh that leaves Beca and the way Chloe feels her lean into the touch for an instant.

 

“S'fine.” Is muttered in her general direction, thick with sleep and the desire for further slumber. Beca's eyes blink open for an instant, catch Chloe's, and then they're gone again, along with the rest of her face as she turns her body away from Chloe and presses it into the back of the couch. Chloe takes her hand back with a quiet laugh and shakes her head. And she's about to get up when Beca turns her head to peek at her, bleary-eyed, over her shoulder. “Come.” She taps the hand of the arm she has tucked to her middle against the curve of her ribcage, just below her shoulder blade, and Chloe stares at her. Mouth not quite agape, because that would be rude, but eyes a little wide with bewilderment.

 

Perhaps Beca is drunk. At four o'clock in the afternoon. Or maybe she got secondhand-buzzed from the High Notes. Again. What if she's been body-snatched?

 

Chloe doesn't seriously consider any of these things though, because she knows a sleepy Beca when she sees one. It's just that one has never asked her to cuddle before.

 

That doesn't mean she's going to look this gift horse in the mouth though.

 

With a soft smile, she stands to shrug out of her jacket and drapes it over the other end of the couch. She gets a knee up onto a cushion before Beca says something about a blanket and gestures weakly with her hand. Chloe looks over to where she'd pointed and sees Jessica's afghan folded up on the seat of the armchair across the room. She fetches it, grasping one end and letting the bottom unfold itself, before covering Beca with it. The brunette heaves a contented sigh, then cracks an eye to make sure Chloe isn't planning on leaving. Which, of course, she isn't. With a chuckle, Chloe lifts one corner of the blanket and slips underneath, shimmying up close to Beca and away from the edge of the couch. Her nose brushes the brunette's shoulder before she buries her face half in Beca's hair and lets her hand rest just below Beca's, over the other woman's ribs.

 

After a handful of breathless moments, Chloe feels Beca move and then the warmth of fingertips, then a palm covering the top of her hand. Thumb sleepily rubbing along the dip where Chloe's hand meets her wrist. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, waiting until Beca's breathing even outs again before dropping a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

 

By the time Stacie arrives home, they've both been out like a light for a good forty-five minutes. Long enough for them to drift into a deep sleep, which means neither of them stir when Stacie closes the door behind her. They also don't stir when Stacie, also drawn in by the quiet hum of music, tiptoes into the living room and finds them.

 

The afghan is mostly in a puddle on the floor now, giving Stacie just **the** perfect view of the way Chloe's hand and entire forearm have disappeared beneath Beca's hoodie, pushing it up to reveal a strip of skin as she holds the slumbering brunette close. Every inch of their bodies are flush, legs intertwined and faces almost cheek to cheek, their breathing in perfect sync.

 

Stacie has to take a very, **very** deep breath to stop herself from squealing. A few, actually. It's a good ten seconds before she can actually move from her place playing creeper behind the couch. But when she does finally manage it, it's with a smile that could rival the sun in terms of brightness, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket, flicking into her camera app.

 

She takes seven different photographs, each one from a different angle, and a video. Just in case. Then she skips away silently, up to the second floor, already dialling Fat Amy's number before she reaches the landing.


	10. Sing Taylor Swift To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for emilyjunklegacy.

* * *

Beca's musical taste is fairly eclectic. Looking through her vinyl, it's immediately apparent that her taste spans multiple genres and decades, though her organizational system still baffles Chloe, despite the fact that Beca has tried to explain it to her numerous times. It must make sense to her though, because Chloe can pull a record out from anywhere and once it's done playing, Beca will take it and place it back in the exact same spot without so much as a second glance to make sure it  **is** the right spot. She  **knows** it is.

 

Which makes sense, because her record collection happens to be something that Beca Mitchell is insufferably proud of. Egotistically so. She has, in fact, gone as far as referring to herself as a 'music connoisseur' in the past. More than once. And that isn't something that Chloe's about to argue, but it **does** make her giggle a bit.

 

Beca tends to act a little snobbish when it comes to the music she exposes her ears to, but Chloe knows exactly how big of an 'act' that really is.

 

Because she's looked closely enough at Beca's collection to find those unexpected editions scattered throughout. Far enough away from each other that they might be missed individually, but not by Chloe. Because Chloe is a self-proclaimed 'fangirl' and she doesn't believe for one second that Beca owns the 'Red' album because “I like how it looks”. Not when Chloe also finds 'Speak Now' and '1989' in there as well.

 

She doesn't **tease** Beca, not exactly. Not about her hidden love for Taylor Swift anyway. If anything, she gives her a bit of a hard time for being such a lying liar, but that's it. After that conversation though, Taylor Swift starts cropping up more and more often in Beca's life. Largely because Chloe takes to putting one of her songs on whenever she enters a room, something that inevitably ends with Beca rolling her eyes at the redhead, but she does it with the kind of smile that tells Chloe she's secretly enjoying it. Even if she'll never say.

 

And she thinks that maybe Beca has a soft spot for Taylor for a reason. That maybe there's some connection there that goes deeper than she's willing to admit.

 

The first time Chloe breaks into '22', gliding into the kitchen sometime in the afternoon, Beca looks up from her laptop screen wearing that same bewildered expression she had been when she'd once asked Chloe, “You know David Guetta?”

 

“ _We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time._ ” Chloe arches an eyebrow and smiles as Beca's eyes follow her journey around the side of the couch. She draws out the “ _oh, yeah_ ” with a wink and then stops in front of Beca. “ _Tonight's the night when we forget about the deadlines._ ” Then she presses her fingertips to the back of the laptop screen and slowly starts closing the lid, eye's never leaving Beca's as the brunette continues to stare at her a little strangely, but makes no effort to brush off Chloe's advances. “ _It's time._ ” In this case, it's time to let a slightly unhinged redhead drag her around the relatively small space of the living room as she belts out the chorus with enough feeling to convince Beca that “okay, I get it, you're feeling twenty-two! Can you like, put me down now?”

 

 

It becomes kind of a thing then. Whenever they're alone, just the two of them, and sometimes Chloe doesn't even realise she's doing it to begin with.

 

“ _That I can't even see anyone when he's with me._ ” She's lying across the couch with her head in Beca's lap, reading over a Russian Lit textbook while Beca taps away one-handed on the laptop she has balanced on the arm. “ _He says he's so in love,_ ” the hand Beca has resting against the top of Chloe's head shifts a little, “ _he's finally got it right._ ” Fingers ghosting over her crown almost absently, but Chloe's hyper aware of them. “ _I wonder if he knows he's all I think about at night._ ” She doesn't think Beca's paying attention, which is why she jumps a little when Beca speaks.

 

“Can you, not, sing that one?” And Chloe turns bright blue eyes towards Beca's surprisingly solemn face, but Beca looks away. Back at the screen, obviously uncomfortable. “Sorry, I just-”

 

 

“ _I say, “Can you believe it?” As we're lying on the couch,_ ” and just like that, all the shadows are gone from Beca's face, “ _The moment I could see it._ ” And the corners of Beca's lips curl until her smile is the smile of a person trying to do the exact opposite, and failing spectacularly. She looks back down at Chloe and something behind Chloe's chest expands. Explodes. And her own smile is wide as she sings, “ _Yes, yes, I can see it now._ ”

 

And when the tables turn and she finds Beca confidently crooning, “ _We're a crooked love, in a straight line down,_ ” without flinching away from eye contact, actually **initiating** it for once and being the one refusing to let it drop for a change, Chloe feels giddy. And so, so **happy**.

 

So much so, that she doesn't really hesitate when Beca walks into her bedroom and catches her softly singing, “ _And that's how it works. It's how you get the girl, girl._ ” She just keeps on working her way further into the song, “ _Remind me how it used to be._ ” As her feet take her further into Beca's irresistible personal bubble. “ _With pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks._ ” And she smiles, almost smirks, “ _And say you want me,_ ” as she tucks a lock of dark hair behind Beca's ear and wonders at the glint in her eyes. “ _And then you say-_ ”

 

Beca sings the rest of the song silently, against Chloe's lips. Pours each word, each lyric into her mouth and hits every mute note with tentative strokes of her tongue. Strokes that turn sure and slow when Chloe rests her hands against Beca's hips, squeezing gently and pulling her closer.

 

When they finally break away, breathless and beaming, Chloe has enough brain power left to shakily whisper, “ _That's how you got the girl._ ”


	11. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anon prompted** \- sick Beca alternates between being grumpy and being a big needy baby. Chloe makes soup and takes care of her.

* * *

Beca Mitchell is the single most difficult person on the planet when she's ill. She's miserable and crabby, and wants nothing more than for you to leave her alone in her pile of Kleenex and cough syrup until she can breathe through her nose again.

 

She's also, often nearly simultaneously, needy and whiny, and wants nothing more than to be looked after. Not that she'll readily admit to that.

 

None of these things mesh though, because Chloe can't handle a cute needy Beca without smiling or giggling, and that only makes her pouty and grumpy again, which only endears her further to Chloe. It's like a vicious cycle. One Beca is content to cough at and then roll over.

 

This time, she doesn't even know Beca's sick until Jesse texts her.

 

_**Beca says she's dying and needs u** _

 

She stares at her phone for a good long minute, the spoon she's using to scoop cereal into her mouth still caught between closed lips, pressed against her top of her tongue where it's held in place, and she brings her other hand up to type a response.

 

_What is it this time?_

 

_**I’m not convinced it isn't manflu** _

 

She smiles so widely, the spoon almost falls out of her mouth and she pulls it free with a laugh, placing it back in the bowl.

 

_**She thinks it's malaria or ebola. I suggested swine flu. She was not pleased.** _

 

_Jesse!!!_

 

_**When I got here and asked her how she was feeling she threw her phone at me!** _

 

Chloe shakes her head and gets up, rinsing her bowl in the sink before placing it into the top rack of the dishwasher.

 

_**Which is why I’m the one txting u 2 tell u she's dying and she isn't** _

 

Chloe laughs again and opens the fridge before replying, eyes scanning the contents before she moves to the kitchen cupboard to repeat the action.

 

_Tell her I’ll be there in an hour_

 

She's already got everything out and ready on the counter by the time the next message arrives.

 

_**She screamed, told me I was useless and that she'd be dead in an hr. ... good luck! ;)** _

 

_I won't need luck. ;)_

 

Because when a person has their mother's recipe for her famed chicken noodle soup, they do not require luck.

 

She raps quietly on the door when she arrives, then holds her breath and presses her ear against the surface, straining to detect even the faintest sounds of life coming from within. She thinks she hears the broken sound of a weak cough and finds that the doorknob turns easily in her grasp. She poked her head around the side and spots the Beca-sized lump of blankets piled on the side of the room that isn't a neat, pristine white, then slips the rest of the way inside and elbows the door closed behind her. The blankets stir, seem to ball in tighter on themselves, and Chloe can't quite keep the smile from her face as she places the plastic container she'd carried over down on Beca's desk, before moving towards the bed. She looms over the misshapen mass for a few seconds, trying to find her friend who she knows is hiding somewhere beneath it all, and eventually takes a seat on the very edge of the mattress.

 

The lump moves. Enough that Chloe spies a tangle of dark tresses peeking out from the duvet and, seeing her opening, she reaches across the bed to stroke her fingers over them. After a moment or two of petting, she feels Beca uncurl a little and watches as a hand emerges to brush dark hair away from, _oh, there's her face_. Sad blue eyes blink open, lids heavy and a little purplish in colour. Chloe feels her chest constrict at the sight. Be it animal or human, seeing them struggling and in pain is something that has the power to immediately devastate Chloe.

 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty.” She brings her hand down to stroke the back of her knuckles across Beca's clammy cheek, only to yank it back when the brunette jerks away from the touch.

 

“No, don't look at me.” Beca's voice is hoarse, words a little slurred, and absolutely fit to burst with self-pity as she pulls the duvet up so it coves her face. “I’m gross.” Chloe's bites down on her lip to hold her laugh in and takes a few steadying breaths in through her nose before she speaks again.

 

“Beca.” She curls her fingers around the edge of the blanket and tries to tug it down, but Beca remains surprisingly strong for someone so sick and she can't budge them. “Beeecaaa.” She sing-songs. “I brought you soup.” A few seconds tick by and then Beca's eyes appear over top of the duvet again.

 

“Soup?” She croaks and Chloe nods, tugging at the blanket again and this time, Beca lets her. Chloe takes in her pale, sweaty complexion, rumpled sleep shirt and bird's nest of a hair style, and a chuckle slips out.

 

“You look awful.” Beca's face crumples into an angry frown and she rolls away to face the wall.

 

“I feel like shit.” Her rasp is grouchy and Chloe winces at the pain she can hear lacing the words. “You still probably look like an angel when-” the rest of her grumbling tirade is buried in a wave of body-wracking coughs, the kind that rattle around inside a person's chest like a handful of ball-bearings through a metal tube. Chloe frowns and looks around, searching for a glass of water or something that Jesse might have brought her and left within arm's reach.

 

There's an opened bottle of Gatorade with a straw sticking out of the mouth on her desk and another one, still sealed, behind it, and Chloe gets up to fetch it. She brings it back and coerces Beca into rolling back over and craning her head just enough to slip the straw between her lips. She takes a few sputtering sips and then finally the coughing calms. Licking the bright red liquid from her lips, Beca closes her eyes and lets her head fall back to the pillow as Chloe put the bottle back. Then when she notices the bottle of cough syrup with the sticky spoon sitting beside it.

 

“Chlo,” her eyes flit to the bed, where Beca has twisted around and is reaching for her hand, “Chlo, is my,” which she lets her take and tug towards her forehead, “is my head hot?” It mostly just feels warm and tacky with sweat, but Chloe lets Beca keep her hand pressed flat there as she points to the glass bottle.

 

 

“Beca, how much cough syrup have you taken?” Rolling her head back and forth across Chloe's palm, Beca hums loudly and doesn't answer for a minute.

 

 

“Dunno.” She mumbles, pressing Chloe's hand to her cheek now and trapping it between the pillow and her face. “How much is left in the bottle?”

 

“Like, a third?”

 

“Oh.” Beca huffs a breath, eyes vanishing behind drooping lids. “Then two thirds.” Chloe snatches her hand back, pulling a whine from the brunette.

 

“Beca!” She grabs the bottle and moves it out of reach, sighing exasperatedly.

 

“It wouldn't stop!” She sound so, so miserable, almost like she might be on the verge of tears. “I think I hacked up part of my lung last night and I couldn't sleep and all I want to do is sleep, Chloe.” And when Chloe sits back on the edge of the bed, Beca is pouting. “And my throat hurts and my chest hurts and I think I’m dying.” Actually pouting. Her hand snakes out from under the covers to fist at the hem of the redhead's shirt and watery eyes the colour of midnight shimmer as they stare up into caring sky-blue. “Chloe,” the name warbles as it leaves her lips, “I'm sick.” Sick, Chloe reasons, and a little bit high. There's no way sober Beca would be clinging to her like this. Like she might actually die if she were to leave. She stands, or tries to, but finds she has to disentangle Beca's fingers first. “No, no, stop.” Beca's voice breaks, like shrieking steel, as she tries desperately to hold on. “Stop, please, don't go, don't go.” With a disbelieving eye roll that Beca would, she's sure, be proud of under different circumstances, Chloe bends at the waist and gently shushes the other woman, stroking over her hair again.

 

“I'm just going to warm up the soup.” She says quietly, but Beca whimpers and remains reluctant to release until she promises that she'll be right back, and that Beca will be able to **see** she isn't going anywhere.

 

“Will you stay with me?” Even with her back turned and over the whir of the microwave, Chloe hears it. She looks at Beca over her shoulder and feels her chest constrict again at the look on her face.

 

“Of course, Becs.” Finally, Beca closes her eyes again.

 

“Chloe?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you sing to me?”

 

Yeah, Beca can be pretty damn difficult to deal with when she's sick.

 

Unless you're Chloe.  


	12. A Little Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bechloe-af prompted** \- I don't know if you write prompts, but if you do can you do one where Chloe is having a breakdown because of leaving barden and none of the Bella's are helping and then beca comes home and helps out. (Maybe she finally confesses her feelings)

* * *

She finds her in the back yard, sitting on the ground beneath the big tree that throws shadows onto the Trebles’ pool when the sun is out. It’s been down for an hour or two by the time Beca gets home from the studio, tired after a day even more gruelling than usual, music beats swimming in and around her mind and somehow matching the steps of her feet as she traipses up the driveway and enters the house. A house that is alive with laughter but is missing its spark, and it’s the first thing Beca notices.

 

“ _Where’s Chloe?”_

 

She knows Chloe hears her approach, but bright blue eyes don’t gravitate towards hers tonight. They remain turned down towards the blades of grass that she’s pulling out of the earth with her fingers, leaving a small pile of discarded life beside her that the breeze sweeps in to disturb every few minutes.

 

Beca sits down next to her without a word and stretches her legs out in the same way that Chloe usually does, as opposed to the way the redhead currently has her knees pulled tight to her chest. She stares up at the sky, at the stars that struggle to twinkle amid all the lovely light pollution, and spares a thought towards how she ended up here. Sitting on the cold ground at the tail end of her forth year at Barden University, waiting for Chloe Beale to speak to her.

 

She remembers a time when she couldn't get Chloe to shut up.

 

“ **I'm** not worried, because like, I have a jacket,” she tugs at the leather collar, side eyeing the silent woman in her periphery, “but you, do not.” She finishes with a practised clipped awkwardness and then pops her lips apart with an audible smack. “And I'd hate for you to feel all gross and flu-y at graduation. I mean, you'll probably still look amazing but-”

 

“I can't do this.” Chloe's words usher the silence back in. It hits hard and fast, stomping the air out of Beca's lungs. “I can't... **graduate**.” She almost chokes on the word and that's when Beca realises she's crying. Instantly, she's turning towards her, pulling her legs towards herself and swivelling her body around until she's facing Chloe. Chloe, whose bright blue eyes are glassy and red, and starting to spill over. Her mouth is wet at the corners and her breathing is desperate and heavy. “I don't-” she shakes her head and Beca's heart breaks a little at how lost she looks, “I don't know who I am without the Bellas. I don't know how to **be** if I'm not a Bella. I don't want to become another washed up a cappella loser Beca, I-” it's as her head is curving around to continue its devastated shaking that Beca catches it between her hands.

 

“Chloe.” Whispers her name with such firm certainty that it pulls its own new scene of silence across the last one as she turns Chloe's head until she can look at her. Properly, gazes locked in a way that used to make Beca uncomfortable. Chloe releases a quiet, whimpering sob, but doesn't pull away. “You are... **so** much more than a Bella. Yeah, that's part of who you are, but it's just a small part of what makes you **you**. What makes you awesome.” Chloe blinks a tear free and presses her lips together. Beca's eyes flicker over her face and she swallows, hard. Pushing down against every flutter of nervousness so that her words can escape. “You're **going** to graduate and you're going to keep being awesome. Whether you're teaching kids, or-or dancing,” she pauses long enough to raise an eyebrow and her heart rate spikes at the watery chuckle it pulls from Chloe, “erotically. Who are you without the Bellas? You're Chloe freaking Beale. Yeah, you're like, an a cappella goddess, but you're also a really amazing person who's going to do really amazing things. And you're not, nor will you ever be, a loser.” Chloe sniffs, Beca's heart clenches. She brushes her thumb across a stained cheek to catch a falling tear and Chloe's eyelids flutter shut. “You know how I know?” They open to find hers again and Beca curves her mouth into a wry smile, tipping Chloe's head back just a little. “Because Beca Mitchell doesn't love losers.”

 

She steals Chloe's surprise away with her lips.

 

Chloe's fingers gripping lightly at her wrist steals Beca's breath.

 

And there, on the cold ground in the back yard of a sorority house full of a cappella idiots that Beca is, somehow, the leader of, Beca does something that none of them had been able to.

 

She helps Chloe. Heals her, just a little.

 

And loves her more than anyone. 


	13. Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this awesome manip](http://kendricks-booze.tumblr.com/post/130429041042/how-pitch-perfect-should-have-ended) that kendricks-booze posted over on tumblr. Super short. ;)

* * *

“We did it!” Chloe’s beaming, brilliant and breathless, as she jumps down from the stage behind Beca.

 

“What,” Beca turns away from where she’s waving towards Jesse, a smirk teasing the edges of her lips and one lone eyebrow raised in cocky confidence, “you didn’t think we would?” Chloe laughs, snapping her head back before letting it loll forward again and closing the distance. Beca holds her hand to her chest, feigning hurt, but the effect is ruined by the way she can’t stop her smile from growing with every step Chloe takes. “I thought you **believed** in me.”

 

“Oh, I do.” Chloe says with a nod of her head, glancing towards Stacie as the buxom Bella drifts by them wearing a smirk of her own that Beca is sure makes the redhead blush, but then sky-blue eyes are back on her and suddenly she can’t think about anything else. “I just wanted to make sure you understand how these lame a cappella competitions, that we **do** compete in on purpose, actually work.” Chloe’s eyes are glittering and Beca’s cheeks hurt.

 

“Oh, no.” She sighs, then winks and says, “I get that people screaming my name is a good thing.” Chloe flips her hair over a shoulder without touching it and dips her head down until she can look up at Beca through her lashes.

 

“It’s even better,” she murmurs, almost too low to be heard, and reaches out to hook a finger through Beca’s belt loop, tugging her forward, “when it’s just **one** person screaming it.” Then there’s no more space between them as Chloe lifts her other hand to Beca’s cheek and brings their lips together.  


	14. Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Anon prompted** : non-established, Chloe asks to use Beca's computer and when she opens it, there's a mix open that Beca's been working on called "Chloe" and it's equal parts sexy and romantic.

* * *

You would think that someone who is so effortlessly able to do about six things at once with a mixing deck would have less of a one-track mind. As it is, Beca is incapable of really hearing anything being said around her when she's already knee-deep in a discussion with someone else. The 'someone else' on this occasion is Emily and their conversation is, from the sounds of it, centred around their demo and how Beca's boss's reaction to it is continuing to ripple. And Chloe doesn't really want to derail their train of thought completely, so she quietly approaches Beca and lightly presses a hand to the small of her back, leaning into her just a little.

 

“Bec?” The captain jerks her head around, blinking owlishly at Chloe while her mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. “Sorry.” She flashes Emily a rueful smile. “My laptop is dead. Can I borrow yours? Five minutes tops. I just need-” Beca nods, waving a hand toward Chloe.

 

“Yeah, dude. It's fine.” She says, obviously distracted and with her brain already turning her head back to Emily before she loses track of what she was saying. Chloe pats her back and takes the stairs two at a time, padding across the landing and ascending to the shared attic bedroom.

 

Beca's laptop is where it usually is, plugged into a mess of sound equipment on her desk, and Chloe plops down into the computer chair, glancing around at the madness of Beca's workstation with a soft smile before thumbing the space bar. When the screen blinks to life, she's greeted with an extension of that madness; the program Beca uses to mix. She's seen the interface a thousand times and has even had the master herself try to explain how it works, what does what, numerous times, but it's a bit beyond Chloe's expertise. That and anytime Beca goes into what she has affectionately dubbed 'pro mode', Chloe sort of gets distracted by the way Beca's mouth moves when she speaks and the way her eyes light up whenever she talks about music. Really talks about it, beyond what should and shouldn't be in their set list.

 

As Chloe's eyes roam over the screen, she notes that there are a few more track windows open than usual and quickly realises that Beca's attempting to mix all of them into one cohesive melody. She hikes her eyebrows, impressed. She makes a mental note to ask Beca if she can listen later and strokes her index finger over the touch pad until the little arrow is hovering over the minimize icon.

 

It's the title of the mix that catches her attention. It's completely by accident, she's merely following the path of the cursor, but seeing your own name often has that kind of effect. Makes you do a double take. And Chloe does, in a manner that would be comical were anyone else around to see it, then her face lights up because Beca Mitchell is making her a mix and, when strung together, those are seven of the most exciting words in any language to her. Because Beca's made her mixes in the past and Chloe has adored each and every one of them. Listened to them until other members of the Bella house had begged her to stop and then she'd listened some more, but only via headphones. Usually Beca's. Usually snagged from right around the brunette's neck while she's not paying attention.

 

And in that moment, Chloe doesn't think of it as snooping. She's just really, really excited and, while she  **does**  spare a thought towards the idea that she's spoiling the surprise, she can't help herself. She wants so desperately to know what songs have inspired Beca to tackle such a seemingly insurmountable endeavour. Her eyes flicker to the window at the top left of the screen and her brow furrows when ' _Breathe – Télépopmusik_ ' doesn't jog any of her musical memories. She resists the itch to hit play though and slides her gaze to the next window.

 

Massive Attack's 'Teardrop' is one of her top ten favourite songs of all time. Beca knows this because Chloe has made her write out a top ten list twice annually since they met and that song has appeared on all of the ones Chloe has handed to her. Her stomach doesn't start somersaulting until she reads the third track listing and even then it's really just a tiny back flip. Because while 'Love To Love You Baby' is an undeniably sexy song, it's also a song everyone loves, and so the flip is, Chloe thinks, largely unwarranted.

 

But then Jakalope's 'Feel It' actually sends her stomach roiling, throws her head into a spin, and sets her whole body on fire. Because  **that**  song is basically Beca's lady jam equivalent, something Chloe had weaselled out of her during an alcohol-infused night that the aforementioned brunette had claimed not to remember the next morning. She feels hot from her toes right up to her face and wonders, briefly, if she's blushing. Breathing suddenly slightly more laboured than it had been moments ago, she flicks her attention towards the last track and feels all of that external heat turn inward when she reads ' _kiss you all over – exile_ '. The air turns thick and stifling, as her brain puts the very large, glaringly obvious pieces together and comes away with only one possible conclusion.

 

Her name is at the top of this mix.  **Her** name.

 

“Chloe!” She hears Beca calling it from the floor below. “Chloe, hold on!” Hears it grow clearer as she nears. “I need to--” Hears the muttered “shit” as Beca stumbles on the stairs and the final “Chloe, please, wait” as she crests the horizon of the staircase and finally appears. Chloe sees her, a Beca-shaped blur in her periphery, but she can't quite look away from screen just yet. Her brain hasn't caught up to the rest of her body. “ **Shit**.” But the anger in Beca's voice snaps her out of it. Or maybe it isn't anger, maybe it's some potent mix of a handful of different things, all of which paint themselves across Beca's features. Chloe sees them all flare to life when she turns her head and catches Beca's gaze. There's a beat where neither one of them dares breathe and Chloe can feel her heart pounding its way towards her throat.

 

“Bec-” Her breath hitches and holds as Beca closes the distance between them and reaches around Chloe to slam the lid of her laptop down, before straightening and backing away. She stares at Chloe then, as the redhead blows the air out of her lungs, and she can't decide if the way dark blue eyes are shining screams betrayal or devastation. Beca brings a hand up to tug harshly at her hair.

 

“Fuck.” And Chloe just manages to catch the way her expression crumples before Beca turns and flees back down the stairs. Then there's panic as Chloe's heartbeats match Beca's rapid footfalls and she registers what's happening as well as what  **could**  be happening, and all at once she's rising from the chair and spinning herself around the bannister to follow.

 

“Beca!” Her voice cracks unexpectedly as she races after her, almost tripping over her feet in her haste. “Beca, wait!”

 

“Chloe, please,” Beca's waving a hand at her again as she crosses the landing ahead of her, “I can't.”

 

“Will you just stop and  **talk**  to me.” Before Beca can make it past the first stair, Chloe manages to grab the sleeve of her t-shirt and it jerks her backwards just enough for the redhead to wrap her fingers around a slim wrist and pull Beca back. She stumbles up the step and roughly twists herself out of Chloe's grasp, midnight-blue eyes burning. Glassy in a way that makes Chloe's heart ache.

 

“About  **what**? What can there possibly be for us to  **talk**  about, Chlo?” She flinches at the way Beca says her name, all forced callousness and a coldness that's alien, and even though she knows what Beca's doing, it hurts. “You saw. So, you  **know**. And I'd really like to skip over the patronizing bullshit that inevitably comes next.” Rolling her eyes, Chloe folds her arms over her chest, mildly annoyed by the fact that even the things that should be simple are often still so complicated when Beca's involved.

 

“I know you  **think**  you know everything, Bec, but you don't.” Beca makes for the stairs again but Chloe flings an arm out to block her path, resting her other hand against the brunette's shoulder and pushing her back against the hallway wall with a little more force than is probably necessary. “Can you stop acting like an embarrassed child for one second?” Beca deflates a little at that, but her posture remains stiff and her gaze downcast. Her face is drawn, expression painfully pensive like she's going over a million things that might have resulted in a different outcome, and Chloe heaves a sigh. “Look at me.”

 

“I'm not-”

 

“ **Look**  at me, Beca.” She can count on one hand the number of times she's been genuinely annoyed with Beca Mitchell. This instance is quickly working its way to the top of that list. Beca does eventually do as she's told though and the fear that's shining in watery eyes is turning their rims red, melting Chloe's annoyance away to nothing. She sighs again and lifts the hand at Beca's shoulder to the brunette's cheek, brushing her thumb over smooth skin. Her heart thumps behind her ribs, steady and solid, certain for a change, and she wonders if Beca can hear the heavy beats. She stares back at Chloe, unblinking, as sky-blue eyes narrow. “How many Chloe's do you know?” Beca's expression once more twists towards hurt and she turns her head away, muttering something Chloe can't make out. “Just answer the question, Beca.” Because as impulsive as Chloe is, she has to be sure. Fingers lightly gripping Beca's chin, Chloe jerks her back around.

 

“Jesus Christ, Chloe! One! You  **know**  that-” She presses Beca into the wall, until their bodies are flush, and catches still-moving lips in a kiss that Chloe's been thinking about for a long while now. She feels Beca's body respond instantly, hand coming up to twist the hem of Chloe's shirt between slender fingers, and Beca's mouth doesn't miss a beat. She doesn't hesitate, doesn't freeze; she lets Chloe in with a soft whimper and curves her hand around the back of the redhead's neck, holding her close. Chloe sinks into it, keeps the pace somewhere in the infinite space between slow and hurried, and breathes out a silent 'finally' against Beca's skin.

 

When they break apart, Chloe ducks down to rest her forehead against the shorter woman's.

 

“Can I listen to it some time?” She asks and after a few seconds of silence, Beca laughs.

 

“Yeah, okay.”


	15. Stood Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **dontholdyourdreamsback prompted** : Beca is going on a date at the restaurant chloe works at (they don't know eachother) but she gets stood up. Chloe had noticed beca while she was working and when her shift ends, she sits down with Beca and they have an impromptu date :3

* * *

Chloe isn't creeping. She's  **working** , which makes it her job, actually. Being a waitress, she's sort of obligated to keep an eye on the people in the restaurant and make sure they're okay and happy with their dining experience.

 

The woman sitting alone in the corner table by the window looks the exact opposite of happy and that makes Chloe sad, because people that pretty should never look so upset. She thinks that the woman has maybe been stood up which, okay, has Chloe mentioned how pretty she is?

 

It's in a dark, broody, effortless kind of way. Dressed in dark jeans and a red, long-sleeved top, the handful of buttons trickling down from the neckline left undone to expose a healthy amount of cleavage, along with what looks like two different necklaces. Not that Chloe's been looking, that would be incredibly unprofessional.

 

“You're staring.” She jumps, twisting her head around to look over her shoulder as Aubrey, arms full of dirty plates, breezes by on her way to the kitchen. “Again.”

 

“I am not!” Chloe barks, her voice a harsh whisper as she follows Aubrey through the swinging door. She hears her friend hum, obviously unconvinced. “I was just... checking on her.”

 

“And how is her cleavage?” Aubrey's reply is droll and Chloe's ears turn a little pink at the tips, an indignant squeak slipping from between her lips. Aubrey sets the plates on the counter and opens the dishwater to start loading it. Chloe wanders over to help.

 

“I wouldn't know.” She says airily, ignoring Aubrey's scoff. “But **if** I did, I would probably use a word like...” she pauses, hand slotting a plate into place near the back, “fabulous.” Aubrey lets out a groan. “Or maybe angelic.”

 

“Chloe, how the heck can cleavage be angelic?” Aubrey puts in the last dish and they stand. Chloe grins and pokes the end of her nose with the tip of her finger, making the blonde jerk back.

 

“And **that** is why you'll never be anything other than disastrously heterosexual.” Chloe rocks back on her heels with a giggle and Aubrey rolls her eyes. Something catches them on the down swing and she nods towards the tiny little two way window that lets them see through into the dining area.

 

“Looks like your girlfriend is getting ready to leave.”

 

“What?” Chloe turned her head to follow Aubrey's gaze, panicked. Sure enough, the dark-haired beauty is checking her phone, again, and after a few moments of tapping her fingers against the table, lifts the glass sitting in front of her to her lips. She downs the rest of the second Old Fashioned that Chloe had brought to her earlier on in the night and Chloe starts when she feels Aubrey jab a finger between her ribs. He snaps her attention back around.

 

“God, go. Go and talk to her or ask her for her number or something. I do **not** want to be hearing about this for the next six weeks.” With a relatively subdued squeal, Chloe blows her best friend and kiss and practically skips to the kitchen door, where she composes herself before stepping through.

 

Chloe's always been pretty good at reading body language and when she gets out into the main area, she can see that Aubrey was right. The woman **is** gearing up to leave. Chloe lets out a shaky but hopefully steadying breath, and walks over.

 

“Calling it a night?” Chloe asks, a small smile painting her lips as the woman stares up at her with wide, startled eyes. That are, Chloe notes, the exact shade of midnight.

 

“What?” She blurts, then frowns. “Oh. Uh, yeah.” The woman sighs, running her fingers through long, dark hair as Chloe watches. “I don't think my blind date is showing up.” She gestures to the empty seat opposite her and, gaze trained on the tablecloth, shakes her head with a humourless smile and a huff of dark laughter. “God, I knew this was a mistake. I feel so stupid.” Chloe's chest tightens so fiercely, she thinks it might implode, and the woman drops her head into her hands, covering her face. For a handful of seconds, Chloe just stands there staring down at her, twisting her lips unsurely.

 

“Well if you ask me,” she says, prompting the woman to look up again, and Chloe wrinkles her nose, “and I know you didn't,” which makes the brunette smile and, okay, wow, “but he'd have to be blind to turn you down.” Dark blue eyes blink at her in surprise and Chloe holds them until the blush spreading up along the woman's neck catches her attention. She feels her smile strengthen and the remaining vestiges of her anxiety fall away.

 

“Thanks.” She drops her head again but Chloe thinks she can see a grin tugging at her lips. “But um, she, actually.” And when she looks up at Chloe from beneath long lashes, the redhead's heart actually **skips**. She feels it. Then they're just **looking** at each other and Chloe knows that this is her chance, her perfect window of opportunity, but she can't seem to **stop** looking. Before she knows what's happening, the woman is tucking her hair behind her ear and drawing out an, “Okay. So, like, do I pay over there,” she points to the station where they greet the customers, “or-”

 

“Yes.” Chloe nods, emphatically, and then quickly changes the statement before the woman can stand. “But no.” She's met with an adorably befuddled expression and momentarily forgets what she's saying. She shakes her head to clear the cobwebs and giggles at herself, blowing out a breath. “I mean,” she ducks her head, elongating the word for extra emphasis, “my shift ends in,” and glances over at the clock on the wall, “twenty minutes. If you want, you could wait around and I could fill in as your blind date?” Chloe's hands close around the empty chair back. “Maybe salvage some of your night?” Lightly glossed lips fall gently apart, pretty face slackening, and Chloe bites at the inside of her cheek as she waits for a response. A twitch. Anything. “Or we can forget I said anything and you can pay and-”

 

“No!” She doesn't quite shout it, but it's loud enough to draw the attention of some of the other restaurant goers, and as soon as Chloe's shock subsides, she laughs. The woman blushes again. “Uh, no, or yes. I mean yes. That...” she tugs her finger through her hair again and rolls her head with a wry smile, “that'd be cool.” Chloe watches her eyes narrow, like they're wincing at the word choice, and there's a flash of white as she bites her teeth together, shaking her head. “Nice. That would...” dark eyes roll wildly inside their sockets, “I'm going to stop talking now.” She says, rueful. “But I will be here when you get off.” Instantly, she's rushing to amend her words. “Your shift ends. When your, oh my **god**.” Face crumpling, her shoulders hunch like she's about to drop her burning face against the tabletop, but Chloe stills her with a light touch to her upper arm.

 

“Hungry?” Silently, the woman's head bobs, and Chloe smiles as she backs away. “I'll bring food.” She's about to turn to head back to the kitchen when she realises something. “I'm Chloe, by the way.” Face still a mild shade of scarlet, the brunette's lips lift into a smirk.

 

“I know.” She points in the general area of Chloe's chest. The redhead looks down to see her name tag staring back at her. “Beca. Is me.” And it's at that exact moment that Chloe knows she isn't letting Beca leave without first handing over her phone number, because she's sure she's never met another human being this adorable before.

 

“It's nice to meet you, Beca.” Chloe gives a little half-bow and Beca arches an eyebrow.  


“I guess you'll find out soon enough?”


	16. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : The idea for this hit me this morning and I sort of hastily jotted it down before I forgot everything. Which is to say, this hasn’t been beta’d, so any and all mistakes are mine, and if the quality suffers, that’s why. ;) 
> 
> And just to clear things up off the bat, the Emily depicted in this story is not Miss Emily Junk, but rather the Emily I cooked up for [ this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459564) that I wrote well over a year ago. Who knew I was prophetic, right? …You’d have thought I’d seen that coming.

* * *

"So, squirt." Beca flops down into the couch hard enough to jostle the tiny body sitting cross-legged on the centre cushion and lifts a hand to ruffle copper curls. "What do you want to be for Halloween?"

 

The little girl hums loudly as she crawls into Beca's lap, wide eyes looking around the room in a way that Beca suspects is supposed to be subtle, but Emily is five and can't quite pull that off yet. Within a few seconds, her daughter's attention jumps to the mantlepiece above the fireplace and one pudgy hand points a finger towards one of the many picture frames that line the top of it. Beca lifts her eyebrows and she chuckles.

 

"You- seriously? **That's** what you want to be?" Wearing Chloe's mega-watt grin, Emily bobs her head. Beca scratches at the back of her neck, eyes drifting back to the frame where they spend a few moments stroking over a slightly younger-looking version of her wife. Eventually, Beca nods, and Emily claps her hands together with an excited squawk. "But," Beca interrupts her celebration with a stern stare, "you have to promise me you won't mom. That way we can surprise her." It shouldn't be possible, but Emily's smile widens and Beca feels her heart swell as she holds out her little finger. "Pinky promise?" Giggling, Emily clumsily hooks her tiny finger over Beca's, who shakes their hands to seal the deal.

 

* * *

 

"I'm home!" Chloe nudges the front door closed behind her with her shoulder and drops her keys into the bowl on the side table in the hallway. Dropping her bag to the floor, she unwinds the pale blue scarf from around her neck and drapes it over one of the hooks suspended in the wall. She shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it over the scarf, then turns to survey the empty hallway.

 

The empty, silent hallway.

 

After five years, she's come to realise that any kind of silence filling a house that she knows is occupied by both her wife and daughter is never a good thing.

 

"Babe?" She hedges carefully, taking a small step towards the doorway to the living room. "Emily, sweetie?" She wonders briefly if maybe Beca took the both of them to get last minute gifts to bring to Aubrey and Jesse's for the party tomorrow night. Something for Abby or a house warming gift. But then she hears a noise and God, she hopes that's her girls because after the day she's spent trying to wrangle costumed nine-year-olds, she isn't sure she has the energy to kick the ass of a home intruder.

 

"In here." Thankfully, she knows that voice. She would know that voice anywhere and she follows it now just as easily as she ways has.

 

Beca's standing in front of the fireplace, hands clasps in front of her body with a forced casualness that immediately lifts Chloe's eyebrows towards her hairline.

 

"What's going on?" Chloe asks, only managing to get half of the question out before Beca motions for her to take a seat on the couch. Chloe does as instructed with a curious tilt of her head, dropping onto the same middle cushion that Emily had been sitting on earlier. Beca's lips twitch upward at the sight before she parts them to speak.

 

"It is my honour to present...." she trails off, brow burrowing as she turns her head to the second doorway leading into and out of the room, "Em, you ready?"

 

"Yes! Get on with it!" Beca turns her attention back to Chloe, her expression a mix of mollified outrage with a dash of rapid blinking and Chloe has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. "I want you to know," Beca bends forward and whispers across the space between them, "that shopping with our daughter is almost as difficult as shopping with you." And Chloe does let a laugh slip free at that, rolling her eyes in a way that she could have only ever picked up from Beca, who straightens and makes a show of clearing her throat before speaking again. "It is my **great** honour," somewhere beyond the room, Chloe hears a high, girlish giggle, "to present to you, Miss Emily Mitchell! In **her** choice," Beca hits the word hard enough that Chloe acknowledges it with a a single arched eyebrow, "of costume for this year's Halloween Ball." Beca moves her hands then and Chloe catches sight of the cell phone that had been hidden from view. Beca brings the screen to life and then presses her to it. A fanfare of trumpets leaks out from that speakers, the effect a little lacklustre due to the size of them but it does the job and movement at the doorway catches Chloe's eye.

 

"Oh my gosh." Chloe's hands fly up to press her -fingers against her mouth and she immediately feels her eyes fill with tears as Emily ambles into the room with her tiny attempt at grace.

 

Shiny red curls are pinned up in the traditional hairstyle and for a heartbeat Chloe is stunned because she had no idea Beca knew how to use a single hairpin, let alone the handful of them needed to hold that style in place. The blue blazer and skirt are a little off in shade, but Chloe hardly notices. There's a white shirt buttoned all the way up underneath the jacket and navy tights covering Emily's little legs. And there's a familiar scarf knotted at her throat. She comes to a stop right in front of Chloe, beaming in a way that makes her parents think that her smile alone could power the sun.

 

"You're a baby Bella." Chloe's voice is suddenly thick with emotion and the threatening unshed tears that make her eyes glitter like diamonds. She drops her hands away from her face and holds them out. Emily giggles and runs into them, jumping in the same moment that Chloe lifts her up and onto her knees. She presses her cheek to the top of Emily's head and hugs her tight enough to wrinkle the jacket, but she doesn't care. For a few seconds, Chloe closes her eyes and lets the moment wash over her. Just takes it in and lets the sometimes overwhelming feeling of “how did I get so lucky” fill her until she thinks she might burst.

 

When she opens them again, she sees that Beca hasn't moved and is smiling at the two of them. Like the Moon watching the Earth and Sun. Chloe watches as stormy eyes blink, bringing Beca out of her spectator haze, and then they're just smiling at one another.

 

Maybe they could go as helpless idiots in love. For the sixth year in a row.

 

“Do you like my costume, Mommy?” Emily tips her head back, looking up at Chloe with wide blue yes.

 

“I **love** it,” she whispers back, brushing their noses together. Emily giggles and then turns her head away, looking over at Beca and bouncing restlessly in Chloe's lap, suddenly riddled with expectant, anxious energy. Beca rolls her eyes at her daughter and walks forward, one hand reaching around to fish something out of her back pocket. Emily squeals and Chloe has to wrap her arms around her small frame to stop her from slipping right off her lap.

 

“Okay, so, like,” one hand still behind her, Beca lifts the other to brush the tip of her nose as she looks down at the pair of redheads, “I know we have other costumes and everything but...” she trails off, bringing her hand around and offering it to Chloe. She uncurls her fingers and there, draped across her palm, is a second Bellas scarf. “I **know** you've still got both of our outfits hidden away in a closet somewhere.” Chloe laughs, doesn't bother to deny it, and Beca reaches for the hand closest to her, gently prying it away from their daughter's back. “What do you say?” Carefully, she ties the scarf around a slender wrist, pretty and neat like Aubrey had taught her. “You want to kick it old school at the party tonight?” Then she brings Chloe's hand to her mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles, waggling her eyebrows. “Bella Supremes?"

 

They're going to be the best dressed ones there.


	17. Not Your Average Princess

* * *

She hates these processions. She hates the prep and how long everything takes. She hates waving at people and having to act like she's important. Which, okay; she's a Princess. But she didn't ask to be and after seventeen years she's getting really tired of people expecting her to behave like the prim and proper daughter of the King that she isn't, never has been, and has no intention of being. Not in the way he wants her to be, not like her mother had been when he met her.

 

No, Beca was very much her own breed of Princess. One that preferred pants to petticoats but was only permitted to wear such masculine garb behind closed doors, lest people see and their perception of their future Queen be tarnished.

 

She's not really complaining. She's never gone hungry or spent a night without a roof over her head, so she can't. Even with all the good her father does, it can't reach everyone. That is one thing she'll give him, he may not be the best father but he's the best King the land has seen in centuries. Something that the city in which their castle resides reaps perhaps the most benefits from. The farmers' crops are plentiful, the stables the best in the kingdom, and business is, as he likes to say, "booming".

 

In fact, the procession she's currently taking part in is to celebrate the prosperity of the land as the season moves toward Autumn and it's not that she isn't interested, though she's sure that's what her father thinks. It's just that she has more important things she'd rather be doing than riding around in a topless carriage, waving to the people lining the streets in a manner that has been TAUGHT to her. Because that's a thing. Something to do with a noble needing to retain an air of regality at all times and all ways. Beca hadn't totally been paying attention.

 

There's a break in between streets, where one section of houses end and make way for the beginnings of the business part of the city, and she slumps back against the plush velvet upholstery.

 

"That is not the correct posture of a Princess." The remark is preceded by a tut of admonishment and dark blue eyes flit to their corners. A boyishly handsome face sporting a wide grin fills their line of sight.

 

"Keep it up and I'll show you what an incorrect right hook from a Princess looks like." She smiles sweetly at him and he tips his head back with a laugh, undeterred. They've known each other since they were five and he's driven her mad ever since the day they met, but she loves Jesse. He's her best friend, the brother she never had and never wanted. And to think, they'd been betrothed at one point. She shudders.

 

"Is my Lady cold? Shall I fetch your fur?" He gestures to the ornate long box sitting under the seat across from them and Beca rolls her eyes.

 

"I'm fine. Shut up and get ready to wave." With a smirk, he does as he's told, but not before poking her in the ribs to get her to sit up straight as they approach the next wave of people. She bats his hand away with a very unladylike squawk and then plasters on her very best Princess smile.

 

For whatever reason, the townspeople sort of adore her? They call her name and throw flowers into the carriage, Jesse even picks one up and makes a grand gesture out of handing it to her, which brings forth a number of whoops and hollers from the crowd. Still smiling, Beca manages to mutter a threat out of the corner of her mouth as she takes it and Jesse has to cover his mouth to hide his laugh.

 

The King's personal guard marches along on either side of the procession, keeping perfect pace with their hands on the pommels of their swords and helmets trained straight ahead. Not one of them flinches when the cry rings out, muffled though it is over the crowd. Beca hears it though and she squints, eyes scanning her surroundings and trying to narrow in on the sound. She sees a flurry of jerky movement and spots a man and girl who can't be any older than she herself tussling on a porch beneath a sign that marks the building as a tailor shop. He wrenches something out of her hands – a bag, Beca realises – and then shoves her to the ground. She falls in a whirlwind of fire-red hair and Beca is sure she **hears** the sickening smack of her head hitting the floorboards. The man runs, not one of the guards in the procession moves to intercept.

 

And Beca is standing before she's given her legs any conscious command.

 

“Bec?” Jesse's voice is distant and easily ignored, allowing her to focus in on the rage and adrenaline slipping steadily into her bloodstream. She looks to her right, then back towards the man, then to the gap in the buildings he's more than likely headed for. She makes a mental note to speak with her father later about the guards' lack of concern for the well-being of **their** townsfolk and then she's slipping out of the stupid heels she'd been forced to wear and pressing bare feet into plush velvet. She's up and over the back of the carriage before Jesse can call out again, but she thinks she hears him as her feet land against the muddied dirt road. She doesn't turn to him though, there's no time, she has seconds before the man is going to cross her path and she needs to move, now.

 

She is wearing the entirely wrong set of garments for this.

 

Hiking up her hem of her dress, she takes off, short legs carrying her through the gap between guards – one of whom stares at her with wide, terrified eyes as she passes and is graced with a Princess-quality smirk – at a pace one would think infeasible given her size and state of dress.

 

“Hey!” She barks, just before the thief reaches his destination, and he slows for an instant, distracted. It's all she needs. She launches herself forward, throwing her small frame into the man and forcing him down to the ground. He grunts, his body taking all of the impact and providing her with a relatively soft landing which allows her to recover much more quickly. She pushes herself up until she's straddling him and stays there just long enough to make a fist and pull her arm back. Her right hook is decidedly impolite, very unbefitting of a Princess, and she winces at the impact. It snaps his head to one side and he lets out a half-choked sobbing sound as she rolls off of him, getting to her feet. She turns to find the procession at a standstill and Jesse standing at the side of the carriage. She holds her hand up and snaps her fingers at him, brows raised. He blinks, rolls his eyes, then unsheaths his sword and, with a practised aim, tosses it towards her. In one fluid motion, Beca catches the fancy rapier and spins back to the felled man, aiming the point at his throat. Head lolling unevenly, he opens his eyes and almost passes out when he sees the Princes standing over him, lips curved into a grin. “Next time you try to steal from someone during a **royal** event, make sure I'm not in attendance.” With a flick of her wrist, she drops to her knee and slams the underside of the sword handle against the side of his head. He relaxes into the mud, out cold.

 

She takes a deep, satisfied breath, and stands, grabbing the bag that had fallen from the man's grasp the moment she'd tackled him. There's a twinge at her lower back that tells her she's probably going to be stiff in the morning, but she ignores it – and the stares from literally every single person present – and heads back the way the thief had come. On her way, she tosses the sword back to Jesse, who shakes his head with a wry smile and climbs back into the carriage.

 

When she reaches the store front, she's happy to see that the girl has gotten to her feet but there's a dark bruise already starting to form around a small cut above her left eye. The flesh looks swollen and sore, but the girl doesn't seem to notice. The more vibrant blue eyes Beca has ever seen are gazing at her, filled with something akin to wonder and thankfully free of the clouds that often indicate a more serious head injury. Beca stops short on the porch, taking in disheveled red hair and a stunned, pretty face.

 

“Uh... hi.” She says awkwardly after a moment, inwardly cringing at the utter lack of formality to the greeting. Oh, how disappointed her father would be. The thought is enough to bring the smile back to her lips. “So,” she drawls, watching as clear blue eyes blink, “dresses are seriously awkward to run in.” And then brighten.

 

“You didn't seem to have a problem.” The girl's voice is pleasant, friendly even, refreshingly free of the formality that people usually speak to her with. It's nice, it's really nice. Beca shrugs her shoulders.

 

“I'd like to say it's because I practise,” she pauses, sighing airily and with a heavy dose of feigned nonchalance, “but I think it's just an innate skin I was born with.” The girl laughs and Beca feels her heart beat, consciously, for what feels like the first time in years.

 

“Must be those royal bloodlines.” She comments and Beca hums thoughtfully, dark eyes scanning the girl's face.

 

They stand there, staring, for what would otherwise be an uncomfortably long period of time.

 

“Oh.” Beca blinks, body jerking as she suddenly remembers what she's holding. She lifts the bag, heavy, she realises, with coin, and holds it out towards the redhead. “I believe this belongs to you.” The girl's exhale is deep and relieved and she takes the bag, cradling it close to her chest.

 

“Thank you.” And Beca thinks she hears the tremor of a sob lacing the words. “If he'd gotten away with this, I don't... I don't know what we would have done.” Beca shifts from foot to foot, unsure of what to say or do, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before settling on something.

 

“You're welcome.” And then in a rush of red hair and streaked cheeks, Beca's being rushed and wrapped in deceptively strong arms. Somewhere behind her, she hears swords being pulled from their scabbards and has enough foresight to throw a hand out behind her to hold the guards at bay. Because right, a shopkeep, far more dangerous than a thief. She rolls her eyes and takes a steadying breath in through her nose. The girl smells like apples and clothes dye and her hair is soft against the side of Beca's face. After a few seconds, the girl pulls away looking only mildly embarrassed by her actions and takes a step back. She lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and drops her gaze shyly to the floorboards. “Your highness.” And then she curtsies.

 

“Beca.” She hears herself saying, drawing the other girl's eyes back to her own and feeling a strange sense of accomplishment wash over her when the girl smiles.

 

“Chloe.”

 

Once Beca has trudged back to the carriage, Jesse is waiting for her with a hand extended. She takes it and lets him help her in, then drops tiredly back down onto the bench and closes her eyes. He takes his seat beside her and, after a moment, the carriage starts moving again.

 

“So,” he murmurs and Beca cracks an eyelid, “your dad is going to kill you.” Beca laughs and closes her eye with a smile.

 

“It was worth it.”


	18. Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anon prompted: "Smut-Anon" here. (That sounds so wrong!) Well, I don't know if I'm that good with prompts.. Maybe a Bella sleepover and they're sharing a sleeping bag? ;) Or anything you'd like to share is also good :P"**

* * *

The power is out for the entire block, Jesse had sent Beca a text confirming that, and the instant candles had been lit in the living room, Stacie had started squealing about a sleepover.

 

“ _Dude, we **live** together.”_

 

“ _Why do you hate fun?”_

 

Beca didn't really have a leg to stand on after that, which is why she's currently lying on a hard floor, surrounded by a gaggle of Bellas who have finally, **finally** stopped trying to drag her into things like 'truth or dare' and some **insane** game called 'Dream Phone' that Jessica had apparently found at a garage sale and had made Chloe and Jessica shriek with delight.

 

“ _You never played this, Stace?”_

 

“ _I was probably busy talking to real boys. Or, not talking.”_

 

Beneath a mess of sleeping bags and blankets, they finally seem to have settled down for the night. The candles have all been blown out and the telltale fading of already low conversation had drifted from Beca where she lies on the far side of the room until all is quiet. Although 'far side' is a bit of a stretch; if she were to throw out an arm she'd hit Ashley's ankle on her right and the bottom of Stacie's foot on her left. There are perfectly good couches not being used because Amy had argued that “isn't how sleepovers are done, Beca.” She'd argued that she had no prior experience to go off of, which had been the complete wrong thing to say because then they'd all starting cooing and mooning over her and it had taken her actively slapping a few of them away to get them all to stop.

 

“Admit it.” Chloe whispers, returning from brushing her teeth and making Beca jump. She drops to her knees with a wry smile and shuffles into the double sleeping bag beside Beca. “You had fun tonight.” Beca blinks at her in the dimness, her face betraying nothing until it breaks into a smile that's as wide as it is sarcastic.

 

“Best night of my **life**!” It earns her a shove from Chloe, one slender finger pressed hard against Beca's shoulder, and the brunette's smile eases into one that's real. “It was okay.” She sighs, drawing a hum from Chloe, who stretches out beneath the cover and reaches for Beca's hip.

 

“ **Only** okay?” She presses quietly and Beca sighs, lifting a hand to rub at her nose. She shrugs.

 

“It's the best sleepover I've ever been to?” Chloe's close enough that Beca can see the way her eyes roll and a small part of her is pleased by the sight. Proud that she seems to be rubbing off on Chloe a little. The hand at her hip slips under Beca's sleep shirt, fingers dancing warmth along her side, and Beca sighs as she closes her eyes.

 

“That's just not good enough, Becs.” Chloe's tone of voice opens them again though and she takes in the other woman's innocent expression with a spike of fear. “I want to make sure it's **awesome** for you.” Chloe pushes her hand back and around until it can slip beneath the waistband of Beca's shorts and she's able to give her backside a firm squeeze. “Aca-awesome.” Beca squeaks as Chloe's grip actually pulls their bodies closer together and her hand flies up to press against the redhead's shoulder.

 

“What are you **doing**?” Her voice is a strained stage whisper, panic flashing to light up her eyes as Chloe just smirks.

 

“I,” she leans in until their noses are touching and Beca's breath hitches, “am just making sure,” then Chloe touches their lips together lightly, “that you” once, then twice, as her hand comes back up to sweep along Beca's back, “are having,” towards her shoulder blade, where it detours around, “a good,” to skim the underside of Beca's breast, “time.” Before covering it completely. Beca's eyes roll back and her breath whistles out of her in a way that Chloe knows by now is going to trail off into a moan, so she kisses Beca to cover the sound. Slipping her tongue into her mouth with ease and relishing the way Beca's body moves into her. Chloe swallows every would-be sound, her knee sliding easily between Beca's legs and allowing her to inch closer. The pad of her thumb brushes over taught flesh and suddenly, Beca is jerking back.

 

“Dude,” her voice already sounds different, low and rough from the sudden and unexpected wildfire of desire she hadn't been able to prepare for, “don't-, we can't do this here.” Chloe catches her lips in another brief but blistering kiss, biting down on Beca's bottom lip and tugging as she pulls away. Beca gasps and Chloe feels her squeeze her legs around her thigh.

 

“Sure we can.” She promises, her own eyes fluttering as she teases a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and watches as Beca's teeth sink into the same spot where her own had been moments before. Chloe drags her hand down, the rushed jerkiness of the journey the only thing betraying her own desire, and her mouth parts when her fingers brush over taught stomach muscles and Beca's body jumps against her. She draws a circle around her navel a handful of times and then when Beca's breathing has turned just shallow enough, she turns her hand. “You just have to be quiet.” Beca gasps as Chloe's fingers dip below two lines of elastic.

 

“Chlo.” But she doesn't say no. The hand at Chloe's shoulder tightens until it's filled with the material of the redhead's shirt and her brow furrows, but 'no' never comes. Chloe grins and kisses her again. Steady and slow, matching the pace of her fingers as they drift lazily downward.

 

“Think you can do that?” She murmurs, the words pressing against Beca's lips like ink onto paper, and Chloe waits until she sees Beca wet her lips and part them to speak. Then she slips her hand forward, fingers gliding through wet heat and making Beca's whole body arch. The beginnings of a high gasp threaten but Chloe's there again with her smiling mouth, quieting her. She strokes her fingers slowly through silky heat, taking her time but making each movement firm and sure, and shivers when she feels Beca start to rock against her. The grip at her shoulder loosens and an arm drapes itself over her until fingers can tangle in her curls. They tighten, tug a little, and another shiver shoots along Chloe's spine, pulling arousal down to pool between her thighs.

 

Beca breaks the kiss to draw in a ragged breath and her eyes are still closed, otherwise she might have seen the mischief flare to life in Chloe's. But she doesn't, so she can't anticipate the way Chloe shifts her hand to slide one finger effortlessly inside without any warning at all. And she can tell by the way Beca's mouth falls open that the brunette hadn't been expecting it, can tell by the furrow in her brow that it's taking every ounce of her willpower and control not to scream or yell or make some sort of noise. Chloe pulls back, then eases in with a second and Beca's teeth audibly clack as she snaps her jaw closed, clenching it. Chloe chuckles quietly but the sound is abruptly cut off when the fingers in her head fist and tug with purposeful force, angling her head back and rolling her eyes in the same direction. Fire races over her skin and she lets it, allows the flames to chase her, set the rhythm.

 

She curls her fingers as she retracts them, not quite easing them the full way out before she presses into Beca again. Short, strong strokes lift Beca's hips to meet her again and again, the curling pull of their tips making Beca's chest heave. But she doesn't make a sound, only creases her brow so deeply that Chloe's afraid the line might stay and bites down on her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Beca's breaths come heavy and uneven, the fingers of one hand digging into Chloe's scalp while the other grips desperately at the underside of her pillow. It's when Chloe's pace changes, every so slightly, quickening and turning deeper, that Beca slips. A barely audible “fuck” that only Chloe is close enough to hear and this time when Chloe's fingers curl, she doesn't pull them back. Instead, she presses her knee higher, against the top of her hand, and had to choke back a groan of approval when Beca grinds down hard against her.

 

There's nothing but the faint rustling of the sleeping bag and Beca's silent, broken breaths against her face to stir the quiet. Nothing loud enough for anyone to overhear, but just enough for Chloe to lose herself in. Beca's hips rock a handful of times as Chloe's fingers continue to curl, and then the brunette's already haphazard rhythm skitters and shatters. Her frame stiffens against Chloe, who's eyes never leave Beca's face as her mouth falls open in a silent cry, muscles tensing and twitching as she tightens from head to toe, then finally relaxes.

 

When Beca opens her eyes, Chloe is still watching her.

 

“Fuck.” She whispers again, sounding a more dumbfounded than the last time and Chloe quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Scale of one to ten?” Beca takes her time, gathering her breath and trying not to gasp when Chloe's fingers shift inside her.

 

“Aca-awesome.”  


	19. Happy New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Casolia.

* * *

"Where's Jesse?" Chloe leans towards Beca but still has to keep her voice loud in order to be heard over the music. Beca catches her eye but only holds her gaze for a heartbeat before looking elsewhere with a shrug of her shoulders.

 

"We broke up!" Beca calls back, lifting her cup to her mouth. Before she gets the chance to sip from it though, Chloe's hand shoots out, fingers curling around Beca's shoulder and yanking her around until they're face to face.

 

"What do you mean you broke up?!" Her bright blue eyes are wide and searching, and when the brunette only offers another shrug, Chloe actually stomps her foot. "Beca!" Twin pools of midnight roll with dramatic exasperation as she finally takes a drink.

 

"Dude, it's not a big deal!" She says, after swallowing, and Chloe looks like she's two seconds away from losing her mind.

 

"YES," she explodes, a whirlwind of red hair and impassioned vehemence. "It is!!!!" The reasons for which Beca neither understands nor particularly cares to try and figure out. She can tell by the manic glint is Chloe's eyes that it would likely be beyond her comprehension anyway. "Who are you going to kiss at midnight?!" And she would have been correct. Because

Beca's NEVER understood the midnight kiss thing. "Let's start the New Year off with mono, yay!"

 

"Um," Beca pauses to run her tongue over her teeth, "the same person I've kissed every year." She smacks her lips together, hiking her eyebrows in a challenge. "Which is to say, no one." The gasp that leaves Chloe is loud and scandalized, as though Beca's just told her she's having an affair with the Dean, and Beca cringes at the sound of it. “Jesus, please don't make this a big deal!” There's a lull in the music then, as the deejay fades out the song to announce the impending countdown a brand new year.

 

“I have no idea what Jesus is going to do,” with that, Chloe reaches out to pluck Beca's cup out of her hands, “but **I** ,” and she finishes the contents in one shot, much to Beca's squawking disapproval. The countdown starts and Chloe turns to find a place to set the now empty cup down, eventually giving up and bending to set it on the floor of the Trebles living room.

 

“You what?” Beca's eyeing Chloe skeptically as straightens, the mischievous sparkle in the redhead's eyes only serving to further her caution and it makes her take a step back. Or, she tries to.

 

“I,” Chloe says again, hand darting out to catch Beca by the wrist.

 

“What are you doing?!” Beca squeaks, as Chloe tugs her forward with a laugh and the deejay bellows “Five!!” into the mic.

 

“-am going to make sure that your new year,” Beca brings her hands up to Chloe's shoulders to stop their bodies from actually colliding and Chloe curves her mouth into an obvious smirk at the contact, “starts with a bang.”

 

There's time enough for Chloe to see Beca flush crimson before the man behind the booth finally reaches “one” and then he's yelling “Happy New Year!!” over the simultaneous screaming and cheering that erupts around them. But Chloe only hears it as a dull roar.

 

Because Beca's lips are somehow even softer than she'd imagined and they still taste like the shot of whiskey she'd had before the cup of Jiggle Juice had magically appeared in her hand. Her hips are warm and sturdy beneath Chloe's palms, body still and unmoving as she moves up and around until her arms are wrapped around the smaller girl's frame.

 

And still, Beca doesn't move away. Even as Chloe slides an inch or two closer to kiss her more firmly. Even as the alcohol racing through her bloodstream turns her already sky-high confidence up a notch and tips her forward into the deep end of a kiss that lights up the backs of her eyelids far more brightly that any New Year's fireworks ever could.

 

And she **still** doesn't move away, even when they're bumped into and surprise jerks them apart.

 

A surprise that is **nothing** compared to the look on Legacy's face when she blinks at them, eyes wide and glassy with the promise of an unprecedented, utterly fantastic year ahead and the naivety of youth.

 

She screams.

 

Beca cringes, shoulders reaching her ears as she shifts in the redhead's arms and Chloe laughs, resting her temple against Beca's forehead as she throws Emily a wink.

 

“Oh-em-aca-gee, you **guys**!!” She squeals, and she continues to squeal as she seems to cross the room in two quick strides, no doubt in search of the other Bellas, desperate to spill the beans. Chloe turns her head then, meeting Beca's gaze as she feels thumbs tapping a nervous rhythm against her collarbone.

 

“So,” Beca starts, breathy and awkward, “that's new.” Chloe's entire face is in danger of being engulfed by her own smile as Beca's hands slip up and she winds her arms loosely around the redhead's neck.

 

“Did I tell you my resolution yet?” Chloe tilts her head to brush the tips of their noses together and feels happiness bubbling up behind her ribs as the action draws a sharp, involuntarily inhale from Beca. “Probably not, because I **just** thought of it.” Without warning, Chloe dips her head to kiss Beca again, quick and clean, teasing another squeak out of her before leaning back just enough to murmur, “It's to do **that** as much as is humanly possible.”

 

“You're **not** human,” Beca chokes out, and Chloe raises her eyebrows.

 

“Well then,” she catches sight of Stacie and Fat Amy bulldozing their way through the crowd and kisses the corner of Beca's mouth before turning her around so that she'll be first in line for questioning, “you up for finding out how much kissing **I'm** capable of?”


	20. Keep The Candle Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I kinda wrote this 2 years ago, posted it on tumblr and then forgot to put it up here? :/ Whoops.... sequel to chapter 17's Not Your Average Princess

* * *

“Beca, we can’t just start sending the Royal Physician out on house calls. People will catch wind of it and when they do, everyone will expect the same treatment and that’s simply something we can’t-”

 

“I’m not asking for you to treat everyone,” Beca interrupts, voice strong despite the glassy gleam to her eyes. She peers up at her father, gaze hard but pleading. “Just her.” He brings a hand to his head, void of the crown that usually sits there, and runs his fingers through his floppy hair. “I never ask you for anything and I know I’m a pain in the ass, but please can you just-” her breath hitches painfully and she presses her palm to her stomach as she struggles against a wave of desperation. “Help her, Father. Please.”

 

She isn't sure what it is about the plea that gets him to agree. She doesn't much care either. The only thing she's concerned with, is Chloe. And she fights tooth and nail in order to accompany the physician when he sets out. In the end, her father gives up on trying to verbally restrain her and she hops – as best she can in the dress she's wearing – into the carriage alongside the elderly man.

 

The ride to the Tailor Shop is tense and seems to take twice as long as usual, and Beca spends the majority of it fidgeting mindlessly with her hands. Wringing out her fingers as she stares through the open window at the darkening sky hanging above them. It's raining and thunder has begun to roll, and she wonders if the sky can sense her mood.

 

“You know,” she jumps when the man across from her – Henry – speaks, she'd almost forgotten he was there, and she turns her head to stare at him. “I'm quite skilled in this field.” He pats his bag with one hand and offers her an encouraging smile. “I've treated many a patient in my lifetime and from what you described, I’m sure that I'll be able to treat your, ah, friend without any trouble.” Beca wants to say something. Like “thank you” or “I hope so”, maybe even flash him a wry smile at his hesitation. She can't do any of that though. Cant even move.

 

Beyond the bottomless pit of anxiousness lurking at the centre of her being, all she feels is numb.

 

When they finally arrive, Beca is jumping down out of the carriage before it's come to a complete stop and she slips against the slick ground, almost keeling over. She manages to catch herself though and stumbles gracelessly towards the front door. She tries the handle but finds it locked, latched from the inside, and makes a fist. Thunder rumbles overhead as she pounds, the rain falling heavier and soaking her back even where she stands beneath the shelter. She feels the Physician approach, hears the wet smack of his shoes and then the damp creak of the floorboards, and Beca pounds again. She calls out, announcing herself and the good Doctor, but is met yet again with silence.

 

“Perhaps there's a second entrance?” He hedges, but Beca shakes her head. There isn't, she knows there isn't. She keeps hammering. She's about to suggest the man take his foot to the door, when she hears the scrape of metal against metal and the door opens a crack.

 

She's met with eyes that immediately remind her of Chloe's, though these are a shade less vibrant, the colour a tad more watery, and the wrinkles that frame them betray the passage of time.

 

“Oh my.” The voice croaks and the door is pulled back slowly as the elderly woman takes a few shuffling steps backwards. “Princess.” She sounds shocked and it's a moment before she remembers to usher them in, but when she does, she does so with haste. “Your Highness.” The woman attempts a stiff curtsey and Beca's lips shift into a smile that she hopes doesn't look as impatient as it feels.

 

“Please, no.” She holds out her hand, resting it gently against the woman's shoulder. “There's no need for that.” The woman is wearing a dark green dress that almost touches the floor and a blue, woollen shawl over her shoulders.

 

“Can I make you some tea? Would you like a towel?” Beca's already shaking her head before the woman finishes.

 

“No, that's... that's quite all right. I'm- we're here for Chloe.” Pale blue eyes widen at that, shifting from Beca to the man beside her, and shoulders thin with age straighten, squaring off. Suddenly, Beca knows exactly where Chloe pulls that unexpected air of protectiveness from, the one that would make the head of her Father's guard tremble in his boots. “This is my Father's private physician.” She gestures to him, but never takes her eyes off the old woman. “I brought him here to help,” her voice catches and she closes her eyes for half a heartbeat, “to help your Granddaughter.” The woman eyes Beca in a manner that Beca has never before witnessed; it's scepticism and scrutiny, brash and unashamed. And Beca can see so much of Chloe in the woman before her.

 

“You're the friend.” It isn't a question and it makes Beca smile to think that Chloe's spoken about her to her Grandmother, without actually mentioning who she is. Wordlessly, Beca nods, and that it seems, is all it takes. The woman turns, picking up the candle holder she'd set down atop a table and moving through the shop on shaky legs to a door at the back that leads to the upper floor. “She talks about you, you know.” Beca stumbles, almost missing the step. Ahead of her, she hears the woman chuckle. “Which is no surprise. If you've spent any length of time with my granddaughter, you know she likes to talk. But you...” She trails off as they reach the tiny landing. There's a door ahead of them and then one to either side, and just enough space for the three of them to stand between them all. The woman turns, lips parting to reveal slightly crooked teeth in a smile that's made no less charming by them. “She never shuts up about you.” The flickering light from the candle isn't dim enough to allow Beca the dignity of hiding her blush and so she's forced to settle for simply looking away from twinkling pale eyes. “She's just through here.” Moving to her left, Beca's right, the old woman raps lightly on the door and then pushes up on the latch that stops it from swinging open. “Chloe, dear?” Her voice is hushed. “Are you awake?”

 

Beca doesn't realise she's holding her breath until she hears Chloe speak.

 

“Yes.” It's nothing but a weak croak and it screams of a parched throat. Beca has to consciously restrain herself from rushing into the room.

 

“Your,” the woman pauses long enough to glance back at Beca, who's hand is once more pressed against her stomach, “friend, is here. She's brought someone to take a look at you. Says he's a doctor.” She steps aside then, placing the candle holder on top of the end table standing beside the bed and letting Beca and the man into the room.

 

The flame from the candle illuminates Chloe's face, highlighting her pallid, sweat-slicked complexion and the dark shadows that hang like rain clouds beneath her eyes. Eyes, the lids of which droop, but they find Beca in spite of that and Beca watches as Chloe somehow finds the strength to quirk pale lips into a tiny smile.

 

That's one of the things Beca treasures most about the girl; her ability to spare a smile no matter what.

 

“Beca.” Chloe's voice cracks, breaking the Princess's name in two and instantly pulling her around to the other side of the bed. Tired eyes blink, heavy and slow, and Beca lifts the porcelain jug from where it's sitting on the chest of drawers, pouring water into the tin cup beside it. She fills it halfway, then sets the jug back down and turns toward the bed again. Chloe is watching her, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath she takes, and stirring the thin, white shift she sleeps in. With a tremulous smile, Beca brings the cup to dry lips and Chloe sips at the water, slowly. She sputters after a few moments and Beca pulls the cup away, putting it down beside the jug as Chloe coughs behind her. Then she's right back at the bedside, pressed against the wood frame and half leaning over, getting as close to Chloe as she can. She settles, the coughing receding as she closes her eyes, and Beca brings a hand to her forehead. She brushes away damp strands of red hair that stick to the skin and Chloe's eyes flutter open again. “You came.” And Beca's heart shoots into her throat as her stomach falls to her feet.

 

“Of course I came.” She feels tears prick the backs of her eyes again and blinks furiously in an attempt to keep them at bay. “And I brought back up.” Retracting her hand, she gestures to the man with her and Chloe offers him another weak smile as he approaches.

 

“Good evening, Miss.” Beca steps aside and he sidles up close to the bed, resting his bag in the empty space beside Chloe's leg. “With your permission, and at the behest of the Princess,” Chloe's eyes dart to their corners to catch Beca's and the brunette feels heat rise to her cheeks again, “I would like to examine you. See if we can't figure out what nasty blighter is the cause of your troubles.” Beca can tell from the way Chloe is looking at the man that she likes him.

 

She just hopes he can help.

 

By the time he's finished, Beca and Chloe's grandmother – Edith, she's told – have made their way through half a pot of tea, at the older woman's insistence of course. “Calms the nerves,” she'd said and Beca had sat down at the little crooked table in the centre of the main upstairs room without complaint. Not a verbal one at least, but she hadn't been able to keep her body still, something that had gone unnoticed by her until Edith had told her to stop worrying her lip and tapping her foot against the floor before she wore holes in both.

 

“Madams,” he interrupts, as politely as he can, and they both look to him as he halts beside the door, one hand on the latch, the other holding his bag. Beca hurries up out of her chair and helps Edith to stand. The world around her slows to a crawl then, as he opens his mouth and begins to speak again.

 

And Beca hardly registers anything after “in time, she will recover”. Every last wisp of breath leaves her and she has to grip the back of the chair she'd been sitting in moments before to stay standing. She feels herself sway and then a hand at her back. Fingers that are bony with age rest near the centre of her spine and warmth radiates from the touch, seeping into her skin to steady her. It reminds her of Chloe.

 

Just like everything does.

 

“I'd like to stay,” she hears herself saying, before she remembers her manners and twists her head toward Edith. “If I may?” The older woman nods, the errant grey hairs that have sprung free from the braid laying between her shoulders dancing with the motion.

 

“Your father-” Henry begins, but Beca shoots him a look that tells him now is not the time to trifle with her.

 

“Is free to send a carriage for me in the morning,” she finishes for him, a subtle but defiant tilt of her chin cutting off any further comments on the matter. He concedes by dropping his gaze and Beca feels herself warm to him a little more; she admires a person who can see when they're beat.

 

Almost as much as she'd admired how Chloe never gave up.

 

 **Everything** reminds her of Chloe.

 

He leaves them with instructions on how to care for the redhead and how often a spoonful of the remedy he's left in a bottle on her bedside table is to the taken. Chloe is in for a lot of rest, water and cold cloths to the forehead. Thankfully, it isn't contagious and when Edith offers Beca one of Chloe's spare shifts to sleep in, she offhandedly informs her that Chloe's bed is big enough for two and that Edith herself kicks in her sleep. Beca takes the shift with a smile and tries not to roll her eyes. Edith does that for her, then disappears behind the rough, wooden door of her own bedroom, leaving Beca alone on the landing. She takes a deep breath, then carefully lifts the latch on Chloe's door.

 

The candle still burns, throwing light and shadows across the room. Chloe is resting on her back with her eyes closed and she doesn't stir when Beca enters, nor when she closes the door behind her. She pauses then, taking in Chloe's general state of being, and wonders how on earth she can still look so pretty despite being at Death's door. She allows herself a small smile before moving across the small room and draping the shift over the back of a chair set before a small desk in the corner. Its finish is smooth, sanded, and the legs and front are covered in little intricate carvings of vines and leaves. She goes to work unlacing the front of her dress, then reaches around to pull the knot holding the back together loose, finally freeing herself after several minutes of tugging and stretching. She pushes the dress down over her hips and braces herself with a hand on the desk as she lifts a leg to step out of it.

 

“Not something I see every day.” Chloe's voice holds an unfamiliar rasp, but it isn't only the rough edges of the words that make Beca gasp, almost falling over as she unthinkingly tries to turn and nearly trips over her own legs. She glances up at Chloe after catching herself and feels her heart thump at the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the redhead's mouth. “A Princess,” she takes a breath in and Beca hears it wheeze and rattle inside her chest from across the room, “undressing in my bedroom.” And Beca almost laughs, despite the blush she can feel creeping along her neck towards her face, because only Chloe would still find the strength to tease while bedridden. Instead, she arches an eyebrow and finally steps out of the dress now puddled on the hardwood floor.

 

“You say it's **not** an every day occurrence?” She adopts an air of disbelief as she asks, reaching down for the dress and now wearing nothing but a petticoat.

 

“Unfortunately.” Chloe's blink is lethargic when Beca looks at her again and she's not entirely convinced that the sickness is the only reason for that. “Why are-” the question ends abruptly, snatched away by a sudden fit of coughing and Beca all but runs to the dresser, reaching for the tin cup and holding it to Chloe's lips.

 

“Hey, hey, sip it,” Beca reminds her when she swallows half of the water that's left in a single mouthful. Chloe obeys and after a few moments the coughing stops. She sets the cup back down and it's only then that she notices the bowl of tepid water sitting at the edge that Henry must have left there, a cloth draped over the side. She submerges it completely, holding it there for a few seconds before wringing it out. Then, holding it between her hands, she leans over the bed and rests it gently against Chloe's forehead, who lets out a surprised but relieved sigh at the contact.

 

“Bossy,” she mutters, but there's a smile on her lips and it's one Beca mirrors before walking back to her discarded dress. She picks it up again and trades it out for the shift.

 

“No peeking.” She tosses the jest over a shoulder and the chuckle that Chloe releases is broken and strained.

 

“No fun.” But it still make Beca's heart flutter.

 

She changes quickly, trusting that the only other pair of eyes in the room will have adhered to her request, and pulls off her socks before padding barefoot over to the bed. She takes the time to refill the cup of water and bring it to the opposite side where she'll be able to reach it. Then she stands there for a while, teeth worrying the inside of her bottom lip until she reaches out to pull the blanket back before she can stop herself. She slips under the cover, careful to leave what space she can between their bodies and then Chloe's looking at her. Her expression is different now, softer somehow, almost awed.

 

“Hi,” she whispers, and Beca wonders if it's because her throat hurts.

 

“Hi.” They stay like that, just looking at one another, until Beca's heart feels like it might beat out of her chest and then she glances away, down at the bed. “You don't, do you mind? If I stay?”

 

“Usually something a person asks,” Chloe stops, struggling a little as she swallows, “before they climb into someone else's bed.” Beca feigns a gasp.

 

“Person? **I** am a **Princess**.” And Chloe tries so hard to laugh, wants to so badly that Beca can **see** it, but she coughs and wheezes so much that Beca's hands shake when she reaches for the water. This time, she cradles the back of Chloe's head, trying not to spill the liquid as her coughs jostle the cup. “I guess I shouldn't make you laugh,” she says, once  the cup is back on the side table and she's settling back down beside the other girl. Chloe had caught Beca's hand when she'd retracted it from the base of her skull, holding it loosely in her own, and she tugs it to her chest as Beca settles. Bright blue eyes are closer now and their brilliance is, Beca finds, no less breath-taking than usual. 

 

“Beca?” Every hair on Beca's body stands on end at the sound of Chloe saying her name and the brush of the redhead's thumb against her fingers, slow and stuttering, makes something inside of her ache. It isn't an altogether unpleasant feeling. 

 

“Yes?” Her own voice seems to have garnered some kind of sympathy roughness from Chloe's.

 

“Read to me?” It's such a quiet and vulnerable request, Beca's agreed the instant Chloe asks. “I like hearing,” she exhales and it sounds like crushed gravel, “your voice.” And Beca thinks she'd do just about anything for Chloe. 

 

“Of course.”


End file.
